


Cheerwine Blues

by foxiiiroxiii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Brief Depictions of Death, Childhood Trauma, Cover Bands, Depression, Ethnic Southerners, Everyone has a Southern Accent, Everyone is 18 and Over, F/M, Flashbacks, Healing, Humor, M/M, Mental Illness, Mild Sexual Content, New Beginnings, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Survivor Guilt, Therapy, Waffle House, adoptive families, everyone is healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 16:10:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12172296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxiiiroxiii/pseuds/foxiiiroxiii
Summary: After losing Shiro, Keith finds himself lost in an abyss of guilt with little hope for rescue. Somewhere along the way, he finds healing in the form of friendship… and even finds love in a truly hopeless place: the middle of a shitty Waffle House.





	1. Is It Cool If I Hold Your Hand?

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for everything lol 
> 
> I have tagged all ships even if it kinda ruins things. I don't want people yelling at me. Klance is the primary ship. All others tagged are past relationships.
> 
> I don't have a beta, so apologies for that .__.
> 
> I also use the labels Hispanic and Latino in this fic. For the sake of this story, Lance is fine with both. 
> 
> Songs by Shiny Toy Guns and Cinema Bizarre.
> 
> ###### 

  


There was something comforting about the soft hue of red tinted light blanketing the walls of Keith’s bedroom. The sun had begun to set. The apartment complex was quiet and uneventful, minus the solitary individual taking their dog out to shit. Silence comforted Keith. Silence, two blankets, a white duvet, and six pillows. Seven, if he counted the one on the floor. The familiar space enveloped him, though it had not always felt welcoming. After many failed attempts at finding a roommate on Craigslist, Pidge had begged Keith to move into the spare room.   
   
Keith sat up in his bed. His headphones blocked out any remnants of noise; no music played. This made for a growing nest cradling disillusion and apathy. He stared at the wall in front of him where a tall, red mandala tapestry hung behind a small table littered with crystals and candles. Pidge was to blame for the altar. She mentioned something about cleansing, healing, or whatever spiritual bullshit she wanted him to believe. He hid his feelings about it mainly because he picked up on her excitement to start the mini-project, and never wanted to damper her spirit. She was a ray of light in his life – that for a few years had been pretty decent. Night and day in comparison to the foster homes he bounced around in his childhood.   
   
Keith determined from a young age that no amount of spiritual cleansing or divine intervention could heal his soul. At most, it served as a bandage or tacky glue holding the pieces of his heart together. A fragile condition at best, but the adhesive had long since solidified. Nothing in, nothing out.   
   
He looked down at his lap, eyeing his phone. It was almost time, and any second…  
   
Incessant beeping alerted him that it was time to go. He cleared the notification from his phone and returned his stare to the wall. He contemplated the consequences of letting himself down another night, but figured with Pidge around the corner, he would not get away with it as easily as he would in the past. He sighed and shifted to let his feet rest on the scratchy carpet. He was missing a sock. He eyed his bed accusingly and eventually gathered the strength to stand. He walked over to his walk-in closet and turned on the light that illuminated the neatly organized room. His growing shoe collection was overbearing, his jeans hung on individual wooden hangers, and his shirts were sorted by type and color. Every item was organized in their respective category around the L-shaped, wire closet system.   
   
Directly in front of him hung clothes that stood out from the rest of his wardrobe, mostly due to their size. The colors blended in with his own muted preferences: neutrals, black, and the occasional pop of red. The other side was interspersed with purple garments as well. The clothes followed his organizational protocol, yet were foreigners in the space. Keith reached for a muted grey flannel from the area and a pair of dark wash denim skinny jeans from his own side. A wave of warmth swaddled him as he wrapped himself in the flannel shirt. He internally begged the garment to share that soft, familiar smell that had long since faded. Disappointed, Keith grabbed a pair of red high-top Converses from the shelf above his clothes and walked out.   
   
He was momentarily startled to find Pidge standing in his room with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She stood a whole seven inches shorter than him but embodied the presence of something much larger. She wore shorts over tattered tights, a black muscle tee with the word “Realness” printed across the chest, an olive-green bandeau, and her scuffed matte green Docs. Her warm, light brown bangs were teased to the gods, framing the right side of her face. The left side was cut short, finishing off the asymmetrical pixie she recently adopted to replace the mop of a mullet she had overgrown the summer before her first year of college. Keith on the other hand, embraced the mullet life. His hair, now long, sported a serious case of split ends. He would rather be caught dead than next to a pair of scissors.    
   
“You thinking of bailing?” Pidge asked, tapping her booted foot on the carpet. Her dark purple lipstick and light eye makeup completed her look. She opted to wear contacts in favor of her large, round glasses.  
   
Keith sighed and jammed his foot into his shoe as he grabbed a hair tie and knotted his hair into a messy bun. They bumped arms as he walked passed her and out of his room. “Wouldn’t dream of it…”  
   
He heard her sigh and shut his door on her way out. Keith walked up to the bar facing their kitchen and plopped down on a brown leather stool. Pidge joined him on his left. They sat in silence as Keith prepped his camera for their outing. Keith was attempting to leave his apartment in hopes of “developing positive coping mechanisms”. That’s how his therapist framed it anyway. He recently picked up photography again as a pastime. It originally started a few years back. He’d take photos of his friends and adoptive family. He’d document every event and person he could as a way of holding onto the precious things in his life. However, there was one particular subject that always piqued his interest more than any one person. No single frame or lighting situation could ever do them justice. They were perfect in every sense of the word. _He_ was beautiful.   
   
“I saw some shit cover band is playing at The Cradle tonight,” Pidge stated, pulling Keith from his thoughts as she mindlessly browsed through her social media feed on her phone. “The crowd shouldn’t be too big.”  
   
Keith nodded and gulped loudly. His palms began to sweat and his grip on his camera tightened. He placed it down in fear of dropping it, and rested his head on the cool, granite countertop. Pidge cast him a concerned look and reached to rub his back. Keith sighed and opened an eye to look up at her.   
   
“If it’s too much we can…”   
   
“No,” Keith sternly replied, straightening his posture. “I’ll be fine, Pidge.”  
   
Pidge gave him a small, slightly reassured smile as she reached for her keys spinning them around her index finger. “I guess I’ll see you there then.”  
   
Keith nodded and stood to grab his keys from the hook on the side of the fridge. They walked out of the apartment together and headed for their cars. He watched as Pidge drove off in her new, green Jeep Renegade from the driver’s seat of his 1995 Isuzu Rodeo. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel after finishing his prayer that Red would function when he reached to turn the key in the ignition.  
   
The ancient contraption pathetically roared to life and Keith found himself grinning at the display of all the warning lights on his dash. “That’s my girl.”  
 

~***~

   
Leon was an up-and-coming town near Galaxy Garrison, a private university town 10 miles over where the area’s brightest minds gathered to learn how to one day become explorers of the known universe. It was their attempt to exert some rich White man’s dream of space manifest destiny. Leon, a smaller, liberal town housed a popular arts district and developing music scene. Over the years, residents watched as it succumbed to the effects of gentrification, but Keith was thankful to call it home for the last five years. The town was the only stable idea of home Keith ever had, HOA moms be damned. He appreciated the diversity of humans interacting in the downtown streets even though he never joined them. The idea of co-existing with people from various backgrounds had always been a norm growing up in the foster system. At the bare minimum, Leon encompassed the one positive aspect of being a foster child.   
   
Keith ended up parking behind Pidge on the side of the street near The Cradle, a popular music venue sporting a bar that attracted hipster college students from neighboring towns. The Cradle was situated in the heart of downtown Leon next to an arts center.  Leon sat right in between Galaxy Garrison and their self-proclaimed rivals, Volt University, a liberal arts college in Altean Hills, surprisingly known for both their medical school and arts programs. Keith never cared for the supposed rivalry or displayed hometown pride.  
   
Nothing could prepare him for the intensity of leaving his vehicle. His movements felt sluggish and unreal as if he was trapped at the bottom of a fishbowl. Looking up, the view was warped and confusing. He grabbed his camera in an attempt to anchor himself. Breathing would be advised, but he felt frozen. He hadn’t been around crowds in a long time. The few instances of human contact he had over the last two years included visits to his family and doctors. Nothing substantial, and incredibly isolating. However, he had been working hard to get to this point with his family and therapist. There were numerous steps leading to the defining moment where he would step foot into a concert venue.

A light tap on his window anchored him as he saw Pidge wearing the same concerned look from before.   
   
It was muggier than normal in the middle of August. The air had a distinct wet dog smell as they walked past a doughnut shop and through an alley to get to the music venue. The janky building sported a blue sign with the establishment’s name, the neon lights on the “E” flickered and reflected off the small puddles on the pavement. A small group of hipsters stood outside the doors smoking and talking loudly by the railing. Pidge and Keith flashed their IDs to the employee standing outside the venue, his black sharpie marking clear X’s on Pidge’s hand. The 18-year-old was soon to embark on her first year of undergrad at the Garrison. She rolled her eyes and brushed passed the employee. Beside her, Keith took a deep breath.  
   
Once they made it inside the venue, Keith was overwhelmed with the noise and the amount of people. “Pidge, I thought you said the crowd would be small.”  
   
Pidge bit her lip as she grabbed two water bottles from the bartender. “I’m assuming that means the shit cover band hasn’t come on yet… I haven’t heard of them.”  
   
She passed him a bottle and ordered him to drink. Keith stood uncomfortably by the bar and contemplated ordering a beer, but he knew Pidge would not let him break his safety plan. His eyes stung from all the lights flashing within the venue. The band was awful, yet people cheered them on and thrashed around on the dance floor. Keith sipped cautiously at his water, closely inspecting the crowd to see if anything or anyone caught his eye.   
   
Keith never had to search far in the past. He had been spoiled with an attractive and dynamic subject at his whim. His fingers twitched and tapped rhythmically on the bar. His last visit to a concert venue had ended in tragedy. He remembered relishing in the feeling of finally breaching the surface of the rising water engulfing his life. He remembered what it felt to take a deep breath, to feel relieved and safe for the first time in his life. He remembered being happy, smiling, and laughing. With _him_. He also remembered the night it all went to hell. In a flash, he was shoved back down to the depths of the ocean. Starting back at square one would have been a blessing. He landed so far past rock-bottom he was barely breaking ground in an attempt to rebuild.   
   
The water hurt his throat as it threatened to close on him. He clenched his fist, cursing trauma’s visceral grip. He hated how he could still see and smell the blood.   
   
_Your arm… W-what do I do?!_  
   
_Keith don’t look. F-focus… please… call the police._  
   
Like a bullet speeding through glass, the memories burst through and embedded deep into his skin. There was nothing in place to shield his heart from the unfathomable pain of losing the love of his life. No one ever prepared him for it. Life had no warning labels, unlike his various prescriptions.  
   
Keith swallowed and watched as the band finished their set and the crowd slowly dispersed. He felt Pidge link their arms and walked them toward the front once a path cleared. He knew he wasn’t entirely present, and allowed himself to be dragged to the front of the stage.  
   
“You wanna try taking some photos of the stage first?” Pidge suggested, leaning back near a speaker.   
   
Suddenly a voice came over the speaker startling Pidge, who promptly stood up straight next to Keith.   
   
“Testing, one, two… My name is Lance, Lance, Lancity-Lance, Lancey-Lance.”   
   
Keith and Pidge squinted in disbelief as the guy paced around the stage repeating his name in a peppy voice. He would occasionally add in some borderline lewd hip movements, and Keith turned to see a permanent grimace etched across Pidge’s face.   
   
“There’s your subject for the night.” Pidge joked, lightly jabbing her elbow into Keith’s side.   
   
Keith’s eyebrows furrowed. He had not come out for the first time in years for this. “I’d rather take my meds…”  
   
Pidge pressed her lips into a hard line, knowing full and well what that entailed, and sucked at her teeth to express her distaste.   
   
Keith watched as Lance tuned his guitar and his bandmates finished their set up. He took advantage of the lack of hip thrusting to start his camera in hopes of getting some candid shots. A taller, huskier looking guy, whose dark brown skin contrasted with the light-yellow muscle tee he wore, stood by the drums. He grinned at the man named Lance as he finished adjusting his cymbals. Keith’s finger rapidly pressed down on the shutter release hoping to capture small, intimate moments between bandmates. From his peripheral, he could see Pidge smiling at him as he was getting “in the zone,” as she referred to it.   
   
A woman with long, pale blonde hair walked across the stage to adjust a standing keyboard and mic. Keith noticed how the purple hues from the lighting accented her overall look. She wore a loose-fitting, sheer black top with a bejeweled collar, black leggings, and platform boots. Her right arm was covered in a full sleeve of colorful, floral tattoos.   
   
“Okay, so she’s hot. Make sure you get pictures of her.” He heard Pidge command from behind him. He couldn’t help but smile. She did have a point though. The woman had soft facial features, but a sharp, intense gaze. Her tattooed fingers danced across the keys until she was satisfied with her set up. She photographed well. The light, regal feel to her movements captured his attention.   
   
The strum of a guitar and dimming of lights enveloped the venue and prepared the smaller crowd for what was to come.   
   
The lead singer walked up to his mic and gave his best smile, “Hey, everybody! My name is Lance and we’re Panic We’re Hispanic! Let’s do this!!”  
   
His voice was shrill and an octave too high for Keith’s liking, but he had to admit the lead man had an infectious energy that commanded the stage and captivated the audience. Keith watched as Lance shook his denim jacket and popped his collar. He fixated his stare on the NASA patch on the singer’s left arm. Lance flipped his snapback around and flashed a grin at the growing group of girls directly in front of him that squealed in response.   
   
The lights dimmed completely as the sound of drums from the back rushed through the room. The drums were soon joined by Lance’s guitar chords and the low strum resonating from the bassist.   
   
Surprised when it wasn’t Lance’s voice to come through the speakers first, Keith’s focus shifted to the woman in front of the keyboard who began singing.   
   
_We were young once, full of violence  
Now you’re silenced, and I’m breathing cold_  
   
Keith raised his camera staring through the viewfinder. He maneuvered slowly through the crowd searching for the perfect angles. He took a few steps back to capture her movements as she reached for the mic with careful fingers and walked toward the guitarist. Keith watched, mesmerized by her smooth glide when she placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder and slowly rolled her hips downward. His finger twitched rapidly, trying to capture every second he could.   
   
_You forgot me, almost lost me  
Every night was hell like battling war_  
   
The blonde-haired woman walked backwards toward her station with such precision, every step perfectly calculated with the beat of the song, allowing Lance to have the floor. Keith did not have time to be swept away by the sound that flowed into his ears. The voice was a stranger in comparison to the persona on stage.   
   
_Hesitation, frustration  
What’s the problem?  
Is this what you want?_  
   
Lance stood still on the stage with closed eyes. His right shoulder dipped as he played and sang the familiar words into the mic. The singer’s connection to the music was expressed in the way his body naturally swayed with the sounds he was creating.   
   
_You’re hearing voices, getting restless  
A pair of wings is all you’re wishing for  
You know, you know…_  
   
The aqua blue and magenta lights seemingly cooled the room and gave the space a galactic feel. Keith stood in front of the singer as the music exploded into a crescendo, and as if on cue the drummer banged twice. Supernovas were on the brink of explosion as Lance’s voice burst through the venue. White specs of light blinked rapidly in time with the song.  
   
Lance’s falsetto was easy and smooth. It carried weight, yet felt light and airy. Keith tried ignoring the moment when his heartbeat fluttered. He lifted his gaze from his camera and stood in awe staring at Lance who looked straight at him. His voice, refreshing like the ice blue light illuminating the singer from behind. The fluidity of his movements across the stage seemed effortless. The genuine chemistry evident among bandmates, as they smiled at each other in passing.   
   
Keith lowered his camera and placed a hand on the stage. Pidge appeared next to him with her arms in the air. He smiled when she playfully bumped her hip against his own in an attempt to get him to dance. And then Lance winked at him. A smile curled dangerously close to the mic as the tempo gradually slowed.   
   
_I still…  
still feel the love we felt…_  
   
The keyboardist took the floor for her solo as Lance stepped back expanding his arms out to the side, and rolled his right hip downward like a belly dancer. With catlike reflexes, he jumped back toward the mic and returned the intensity of his instrument. He strummed casually, swaying side to side. The woman on the keyboard vocalized, accompanying the rest of the instruments.   
   
_Where did you go?_  
   
As the song faded out, Keith felt Pidge aggressively grab his arm, tugging him in complete excitement.   
   
“Holy shit, man!” Pidge yelled, “That was awesome!”  
   
Keith smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Pidge continued jumping, her arms encircling his waist. The enthusiastic crowd behind him had grown exponentially. The majority were women who threw their arms into the air yelling at the lead singer.   
   
The sound of Lance’s chuckle brought back his attention. “Hello, my babies,” He seductively spoke into the mic while staring directly into Keith’s eyes.   
   
Keith grimaced. Lance cleared his throat and continued addressing the crowd.   
   
“Wow, y’all are kinda incredible. Thank you so much for coming out tonight. My name is Lance--”  
   
“Lance, I fuckin’ love you!!” A woman screamed from the back.  
   
“Thank you, beautiful,” He reached down for a bottle of water and took a sip. “So, for any of you plebeians out there who don’t know us, we’re Panic We’re Hispanic. I’ve got my man, Hunk, on drums,” The drummer casually saluted to the crowd who cheered him on, “and on bass we have the lovely Swedish Fish, Sven.”  
   
“Finally, we have _esta atrevida,_ ” He growled into the mic, making a patronizing claw motion in the direction of the keyboardist, “Nyma!”  
   
Nyma cupped her face and smiled while leaning against her keyboard. Lance grinned and took another sip of his water.   
   
“Question! Do y’all believe in love at first sight?” Lance grabbed the mic off its stand and walked around the stage.   
   
Keith turned when he heard someone yell, “Fuck no!” 

Lance snorted, “Geez… Drinks on me,”

Keith, highly aware of the film of sweat coating his palms, let go of his camera allowing it to hang from the strap around his neck. He returned his attention to the singer on stage who was fiddling with his guitar strap.  
   
“I ask because I think I may have just fallen… and I can’t get up.” Lance chuckled, running his thumb across his bottom lip.   
   
Keith couldn’t tell if he was twitching or having an aneurysm because the musician was overtly making eye contact with him. He looked at Pidge who cocked an eyebrow in his direction.   
   
“Can you feel the love tonight, baby?”  
   
He laughed at his own jokes like a tool and slapped the mic back on the stand as the music took command of the room again. Keith watched as Lance forwent his guitar and grabbed onto the mic stand, which he started gyrating against.   
   
_I’m a punk, I’m a sinner  
I’m a lost, new beginner  
I’m a threat to myself  
Imma get Armageddon_    
   
_I’m a freak, I’m a liar  
I’m a flirt, I deny that I know it,  
Then I mess it up…_  
 

~***~

   
The rest of the evening flew by as the band covered ten more songs and managed to get through a minute long “Lancey-Lance” chant. An oncoming headache tapped incessantly at Keith’s temples. Pidge walked up to him and linked their arms.   
   
“How you holdin’ up, cowboy?” She cheerfully asked. Her hair had significantly deflated with the sweat matting her bangs to her forehead.  
   
Keith sighed and dragged his feet, “I’m ready for bed.”  
   
Pidge offered a soft smile and looked up at him, “I’m really proud of you,” she lightly punched his shoulder, “Can’t wait to see those photos!”   
   
“Hey, man! Wait up!”  
   
Keith and Pidge simultaneously paused at the sound of the familiar voice they had listened to for the last hour. They turned around to see Lance lightly jogging towards them. There was something captivating about the man. Perhaps it was the way he presented himself with the utmost confidence. He wore form-fitting, black skinny jeans, white Vans, and a light blue, striped tank underneath his denim jacket.   
   
Pidge grinned and crossed her arms, “Figured someone like you wouldn’t interact with the _plebeians_.”  
   
Lance couldn’t help but laugh out loud as he lifted his hat to turn the floral bill forward, “You caught me on a good day,” He quickly turned his attention to Keith, “Actually, I couldn’t help but notice you taking photos.”  
   
Lance lightly nudged an elbow at Keith’s side causing him to flinch. His reaction was small and went unnoticed by Lance, but he could tell Pidge immediately picked up on the display of discomfort. He witnessed her eyes briefly bug out at the contact but settled down when Keith managed to curb his fight response by crossing his arms and biting at the inside of his cheek.   
   
“Thought maybe me and my buddy could take a look? We’re on our way to Waffle House if y’all wanna join?”  
   
Keith tasted a bit of vomit in the back of his throat. Before he could express his utter distaste in the musician’s life choices, Pidge chimed in enthusiastically, “Sounds fun.”  
   
Keith gaped, betrayed, and in turn, nudged Pidge hard with his bony elbow, “Pidge, don’t you have class to prep for tomorrow?”  
   
Lance snorted, “What are you, her mom? C’mon man, live a little. It’s just Waffle House,” He laughed again and slapped Keith’s arm with a bit too much familiarity. Keith rolled his jaw and tightened his grip on his biceps, resisting every urge in his body to clock the guy in the face. God knew he had burned through the majority of his emotional strength and resistance to last through an entire Panic We’re Hispanic show. Lance paused and stared at Keith as if he had just had an epiphany, “Unless you want me all to yourself, which is totally—.”  
   
“Okay, Lance! Don’t scare the nice fans away!” The drummer interrupted, walking up to the group and slamming his hand hard in between Lance’s shoulders. Apparently, that was how they treated people. “Hi, I’m Hunk. When I’m not drumming, I’m babysitting Lance.”  
   
Pidge chuckled and ran a hand through her waving hair, “I’m Pidge, and this is Keith.”  
   
There was a lightness to their interaction and it almost felt as if they had known each other in some previous life. The walk to Waffle House was amusing at best. Lance and Hunk ran into fans who asked for photos while Keith and Pidge waited by the entrance of the restaurant. The Waffle House uncharacteristically sat in the middle of downtown Leon, sandwiched between Leon’s oldest theater and a high-end boutique. Its awkward placement an ode to income disparity.   
   
Once inside, Lance showed them to their usual booth and all the workers hollered at the two men. Lance clapped hands with one of the cashiers as Hunk high-fived a waitress.   
   
“So, are you two the biggest celebrities this Waffle House has ever seen?” Pidge flatly stated once they settled into the booth. Hunk scooted next to her while Lance climbed over Keith to sit on the inside. Keith momentarily froze, trying to permanently erase the fact that Lance’s ass had barely missed his face. He looked over to see the man smirk behind his menu.  
   
Soon a waitress with a dulled out, blue button-down shirt and black pants showed up at their booth. Her name tag hung precariously off her apron and read _Mango_. She had deep wrinkles running down her face, and her hair was thrown into a messy ponytail, flattened by a Waffle House visor.   
   
“My little _House on Mango Street_ … How are you this evening?” Lance condescendingly asked, leaning his head on a propped-up arm.   
   
The woman’s frown somehow deepened, and Keith couldn’t help but feel as though he was about to get caught in the crossfire of their potential argument. Someone’s drink was bound to have spit in it. He watched as she incessantly tapped at her notepad.   
   
“Whatcha’ll wanna drink?” She asked, ignoring Lance’s question to which he frowned. They placed their individual orders and Lance requested waters all around. Mango glared at him and he lifted his hands innocently. 

“How about that crowd, though?!” Lance asked proudly, reaching out to pound fists with Hunk. 

“Right? That must’ve been a new record.” Hunk replied, jamming the straw out of its white paper casing. He balled up the piece of paper, shoving it into his straw and blowing it in Lance’s direction. Lance slapped it away before it hit his face. 

Mango quickly returned with their drink orders. 

“Who thought of the name Panic We’re Hispanic?” Pidge asked, slurping at her Sprite. 

Keith watched Hunk roll his eyes, making it clear who was responsible. Lance grinned, pointing a thumb at his chest. 

“He’s the only Hispanic, by the way.” Hunk bitterly murmured, casually perusing the menu for something new. It was obvious he had very little say in the band’s name. 

Keith scoffed and kicked a leg out of the booth. “Why am I not surprised?”

Lance sported a look of betrayal and turned to Keith. “Uh. Don’t pretend like you know me, man bun.”

Keith rolled his eyes, jamming a straw into the bubbling Coke in from of him. The restaurant smelled like grease and lost dreams. The tile walls reminded him of a dirty locker room, and the foam spilling from the busted seat cushion was less than appealing. Keith felt gross. The idea of having to order food so as to keep up proper social decorum caused his stomach to lurch. 

Mango returned to take their orders, reaching over to slap Lance upside the head with his menu. Keith figured they had some kind of understanding or connection. 

Lance picked up on his confusion and bumped their shoulders. “She’s just salty because I don’t work here anymore.”  
   
When they finally received their food, Lance proudly showed off his plate, which involved an order of country hash browns. “It’s also how I like my women,” he sarcastically declared, winking at Pidge as Hunk buried his face in his palms. Secondary embarrassment seemed to be a daily struggle for Hunk. 

The lack of enthusiasm dripped from Pidge’s tone as she yanked at her bacon before responding. “I also like country women.”

Lance cackled and high-fived her. Keith was surprised at how well they were getting along. 

Keith stared at his chocolate chip waffles in despair, suddenly wishing he was eating chocolate chip pancakes at Mama Brig's instead. He had bonded with Pidge over their love of breakfast foods and were so well known at the local restaurant that they had their own table. He would never forget the first time they went with Matt, Pidge’s older brother, and Shiro… 

He quickly shook the memory from his head and returned his focus to the plate of waffles now covered in syrup. He turned to the culprit, syrup dispenser in hand.

“Looked like you needed a little help there, my man.” Lance casually explained, drenching his own waffles. 

_Four. Tres. Two. Uno._

Suddenly Fergie’s "Fergalicious" came through the restaurant's speaker system. Keith watched as Lance’s thin eyebrows perked as if on cue. He jumped up to stand in the booth striking a pose, pointing a finger at one of the waitresses currently behind the bar. Keith’s eyes widen in Pidge’s direction. She snorted as Sprite threatened to spew from her nose. Hunk laughed in an all too knowing fashion. 

Lance proceeded to shimmy his shoulders in tune with the beat. A few of the waiters had gathered in the middle of the restaurant as Lance hopped over Keith again to join them. Keith watched in awe as the dance-off took place. Lance’s shoulders rolled with a finesse only the Latino could muster. The waitress mirrored his movements, popping her ass in his direction. A collective “Ooh,” came from the crowd. Unfazed, Lance shrugged and turned to moonwalk to the middle of the circle, spinning and crouching down to twerk to the beat. Everyone howled in excitement, jumping around him. 

Keith slammed his face into his hands in complete disbelief. Tears streamed down Pidge’s face as she laughed next to Hunk who was cheering Lance on. 

“This is nothing,” Hunk stated in between laughs, taking a bite from his waffle and scrolling through his phone. “When 'M.I.L.F. $' came out, they Lost. Their. Minds. The whole restaurant shut down. They were in the news.”

One of the cooks started doing the worm on the floor as Lance gestured his hands together as if throwing money at them. 

Pidge laughed loudly at the photo on Hunk’s phone of Lance in a Waffle House uniform dabbing alongside his coworkers. As the song ended, Lance and his coworkers came in for a group hug. Curious pedestrians that had stumbled into the restaurant dispersed as the dance-off concluded. 

Lance wiped at his nose, clearing his throat. Keith sensed the man would jump over him again, and stumbled out of the booth causing their chests to bump together. 

“Hey there, babe. Saw something you liked?” Lance flirted with a smirk plastered on his face. He grabbed Keith’s hand and twirled him around to get into the booth. Perplexed and a little bit dizzy, Keith sat back down in the booth. Lance winked at him before digging into his hash browns.   
   
If there was one thing Keith learned that evening it was that Lance had the capacity to laugh at anything and everything. It was a stark contrast to Keith’s muted affect. Lance was also kind of an asshole, but he couldn’t judge the man for that given his own disposition. Pot meet kettle. Keith sat silently at the end of the booth, aware of the exit behind him. He looked over at Pidge who held onto his camera as she flipped through the images with Hunk. Hunk casually commented on the “bokeh” in his photos, and suddenly he was interested in knowing if Hunk dabbled in some photography of his own. Fearing what those words would sound like, he forced his attention onto the drink in front of him. He took a small sip when he felt an arm extend behind him in the booth.   
   
“So Cheerwine, what’s your story?” Lance asked, shifting in the booth to face Keith. Lance softly smiled and Keith could see he had bright blue eyes, an unexpected contrast to his caramel skin.   
   
He felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he fiddled with the straw. “Nothing, just thought I’d come out and take some photos.”  
   
Lance hummed and sucked on his greasy index finger, “Uh huh… You were really into it. Are you a professional photographer?”  
   
Keith let the straw fall from his mouth and sat back, stretching out his right leg from the booth. “No, just a hobby. Also, don’t call me Cheerwine.”  
   
Lance grinned and inched closer to him, “Why not? You’re all red and bubbly.”  
   
Keith couldn’t help but chuckle at his childishness. “Cheerwine sucks.”  
   
The sound of Hunk’s arm smacking the table startled him, causing his toast to flop on his plate. Suddenly he was faced with two pairs of eyes filled with utter disbelief.   
   
“Dude, you’re joking?” Hunk asked, looking at Pidge for reassurance, “He’s joking, right?”  
   
Keith rolled his eyes, unashamed of his opinion. “It tastes like medicine.”  
   
Hunk, distressed, rubbed at his eyes. “Oh, God. I can’t… Oh God… I think I’m having chest pains.”  
   
“Jesus, man! Way to kill my drummer…” Lance muttered, taking a large gulp of his Diet Coke. He slammed the empty cup on the weathered table and shrugged, “We’re just gonna pretend that didn’t happen.”  
   
Pidge snickered and reached for the piece of toast from Keith’s plate. He winked at her and watched as she spread an ungodly amount of butter on it.   
   
The vibe they had been cultivating was suddenly disrupted by silence. Keith tapped on the side of his cup, watching the dripping condensation. Lance puffed out his cheeks, covering his cup with his hands and resting his chin on them. His cup haphazardly rocked back and forth. Pidge munched on the toast, melted butter dripping onto her plate. Hunk was the only one not paying attention as he returned to leisurely browse through the photos.  
   
Keith momentarily felt Lance shift his leg next to him causing Hunk to look up. As if they had communicated telepathically, Hunk cleared his throat before speaking, “Hey Pidge, you wanna help me pick out a song on the jukebox?”  
   
Pidge licked at her canine with a knowing grin, muttered a soft “Sure,” and followed the man to the front of the restaurant. 

Keith swallowed, feeling Lance’s eyes on him. The singer was idly fiddling with the paper from his straw. “So, Keith is a real… country name.”  
   
Keith popped his neck, stretching his hands on the table. He ran his tongue across his front teeth before responding, “Says the guy with the boyband name.”  
   
“You would know a lot about boybands, wouldn’t you?”   
   
Suddenly, Keith was filled with a rush of heat that had mostly dissipated over the last two years, muted by trauma and life’s bullshit. It once consumed him, acted out for him, and got him into major trouble growing up. When shit hit the fan, the bitterness crept in settling it’s cold, heavy hand on the open flame that was once his drive and motivation leaving it a pitiful ember.   
   
He chose to swallow his retort for the sake of his own sanity and motioned to leave the booth. His therapist had suggested mixing up his fight or flight response given his instinct to punch first and… never ask questions later. His movement was halted when Lance grabbed onto his arm. When Keith turned his attention to the taller man, Lance quickly dropped his hand.   
   
“Hey, I didn’t mean…” Lance stopped when Keith’s eyes narrowed in on him, “I was joking… can we start over?”   
   
Keith sighed, thinking of what his therapist would want him to do. What his adoptive parents would consider socially acceptable. What _he_ would do if _he_ could see how restrained Keith had been in the presence of a person who was nothing like him. Keith didn’t know which one of them he was comparing Lance to. He figured it could go either way. He realized he took too long to mull over all of the possibilities of continuing or ending their interaction when Lance cocked a thin eyebrow and gave him a concerned look.   
   
Keith adjusted his posture and turned to face Lance in the booth. He eyed the other man’s keys, sitting idly next to his wallet. He had a Honda keychain on it. Swallowing his pride and hoping the musician would take his response as a peace offering, Keith motioned to the keys and asked, “What kind of car do you drive?”  
   
Lance gave him the most genuine smile he had seen all night and leaned his head on the seat of the booth, proceeding to tell him all about his “baby,” Camila. Lance talked for what felt like an eternity. They hadn’t noticed that Hunk and Pidge sat at the bar top instead of returning to the booth. Keith listened intently to the other man talk openly about his interests, how he worked now as a mechanic and lived with Hunk. Keith took the opportunity to add how he lived with Pidge as a way of contributing to the one-sided conversation. Somehow, he wasn’t bothered by it. Lance was clearly passionate about his interests, which mostly involved music and cars. Keith had a certain level of admiration and envy for people who were vocal about their passions. He often wondered if it was because he had difficulties voicing his own. The feeling was something he experienced vicariously through others.   
   
Keith took note of all the times Lance casually touched him. He did it without thought, a reflex of sorts. He would gesture with every sentence and enunciation. He grabbed onto Keith’s shoulder when he dramatically recalled a memory from high school when Hunk had to help him staple fabric into the ceiling of his car because the interior had started to peel, leaving foam pieces everywhere.  
   
“Sometimes I still get itchy thinking about it…” Lance reminisced, scratching at his jaw. The thought faded away as his eyes stared down at Keith’s hands. Keith noticed the other man’s line of sight and curled his fingers.   
   
Their eyes found each other, and Keith felt his toes squirm in his shoes. How could someone be so aesthetically pleasing? There was no denying that Lance was beautiful, and Keith kicked himself when his heart started racing and his thoughts became a little darker. He wanted to know what his lips felt like. What they tasted liked. Lance boldly reached for Keith’s hand, lacing their fingers together.  
   
“Why—”  
   
“Because you look nervous,” Lance responded without hesitation. He gave Keith’s hand a firm squeeze. Keith did nothing to reject the gesture. “It’s always helped me to hold someone’s hand when I’m nervous. Something about it grounds me, I guess. Hippie bullshit, but it works.”  
   
A soft smile curled upward as Keith let out a quiet sigh of relief. Neither one of them knew it then, but they were headed straight for collision like two red-hot meteors blazing through deep blue skies.   
   
The boyish charm of a soft smile, an unconscious bite of the lip, and the subtle appearance of a red tongue ring clinking behind perfectly pearl-white teeth was all it took to make Keith want to melt into the booth in the middle of a shitty Waffle House. They continued holding hands like preteens hiding under the gym bleachers, and Keith felt content for the first time in a while. A ray of light forced its way through the cracks in the wall guarding his heart. He would never admit it, especially not to Lance, but it had not taken much to fall into his orbit. He never expected that he would develop an interest in someone else so soon, but a part of him was desperately clinging onto the innate human desire to seek out companionship. He craved for that familiar warmth to envelop him once more.  
   
_…don’t be afraid to love again…_  
   
_Stop talking like that… Nothing… Nothing’s gonna happen to you._  
 


	2. My Loneliness Ain’t Killing Me No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever. It was technically done by the time I posted the first chapter, but life got in the way. 
> 
> Things get a little... intense. My favorite. :) Tags have been updated accordingly. 
> 
> No beta, unfortunately. :(

The heavy weight of a blanket circulated warmth keeping Keith trapped in the only place he felt safe to exist as his true self. It had been a week since the Panic We’re Hispanic show. Exhaustion hit him in waves slowly revealing the wounds of an empty void. It often happened when he mentally overexerted himself, and he cursed himself for doing too much too soon. 

The presence of mental illness was a lifelong struggle. He attributed it to being abandoned at a 7-Eleven next to the Slurpee machine. A three-year-old at the time left with nothing but the clothes on his back and Godzilla, his stuffed hippopotamus. In high school, Pidge helped him hack into his case manager’s computer. No one gave him the answers he wanted, essentially forcing his hand in the situation.

In the end, the information only dug at his skin and picked at old wounds. 

Bitterness was his closest ally from a young age; it helped him compartmentalize.

One of Keith’s earliest memories was of his first foster home. He remembered the heat during the summer and running around in cotton shorts. His unruly bangs were usually tied up at the top of his head to keep them from sticking to his forehead. 

He’d press his cheek up against the screen door waiting for his mother’s return. The surface felt like a Brillo pad. Sometimes he would stay for hours, his cheek reddened by the wire mesh. 

She never came. 

Back then, he ached for his “real” family despite the fact that he didn’t know his father and barely remembered his mother. The ache dissolved as he jumped from foster home to foster home. The disillusion spread like spilled milk on the kitchen floor. It got into every crevice of his heart, becoming sticky and sour. The older he got, the fewer families wanted him. The less he wanted his own. He watched hundreds of kids drift in and out of his life. 

Loneliness veiled itself as self-sufficiency.

His mental illness manifested in tantrums, screaming, night terrors, and disciplinary actions from each school he attended. He never knew the “appropriate” way to respond. No one would listen to him. No one wanted to accept that a young child could be consumed with such sadness and apathy. Instead, they ignored it and chopped it up to conduct issues and ADHD. A lost cause according to agency standards. The solution? Medication and suspensions. 

The concept of hell appealed more to him than memories of his childhood. Sometimes he’d rationalize, knowing that some kids had it worse. 

The thoughts were intrusive, and Keith curled up under the layers of blankets on his bed. He clung on to Godzilla. The hippo was an outdated transitional object with stuffing coming out of various holes. He usually kept him hidden away in the closet because it reminded him too much of his past. It also wasn't socially acceptable for a grown-ass man to emotionally depend on a stuffed hippo. 

He sighed, his tears drenched his pillow. His legs throbbed from hours of inactivity. A soft knock came from his door and he quickly burrowed his face when Pidge slowly poked her head in. 

“Keith? Are you awake?” She quietly asked, not wanting to enter the room without his permission. Keith sniffed and stuck a finger out from underneath the covers. Pidge took it as a sign to come in and sat on the floor next to his bed. 

She rested her forehead against his mattress and hooked her index finger around his own. Keith stared at her chipped nail, another round of tears slowly accumulating. 

“Keith, I’m worried,” Pidge whispered, curling her finger tighter around his own. “You need to eat.” 

Keith mumbled something about not being hungry and heard Pidge softly sigh in defeat. “You wanna try and take a shower? It’ll feel good.”

Keith shifted and poked his head out from underneath the covers. His eyes were red, and his face was puffy. Pidge raised her hand and wiped his wet cheek. Her eyebrows furrowed in complete concern. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Keith stated, hoarsely. He propped himself up on an elbow. A throbbing pain banged against his temples. He couldn’t remember the last time he drank water. Pidge motioned for Keith to scoot over and crawled into the queen-sized bed. She threw the covers over their heads, and suddenly Keith was reminded of their first sleepover. They had stayed up late reading DC comics in a makeshift pillow fort packed with snacks, blankets, and their flashlights. 

They quietly laid in bed together. Her breathing was steady; she smelled like old books. She must’ve just gotten home from the library. He had lost track of time.

The Holt family was his final foster home placement, and eventually became his adoptive family when he was in high school. It was difficult to come to terms with it at first. Nestled in the height of his rebellious stage, Keith held a grudge on everyone he encountered, especially his foster parents. While they were on the kinder and giving end of the spectrum, they had high expectations. Expectations that went beyond “clean my house,” “take care of this kid,” and his personal favorite, “go buy me cigarettes.”

Keith had always been an average student, getting by with slack work ethic. He never studied, never took notes, and skipped on a regular basis. One year with the Holts and he was on the AB honor roll at his high school. They showed up to parent-teacher conferences. They held him accountable. They encouraged him to sign up for track when they picked up on his jogging routine. No one ever noticed before. They cheered him on at every meet after he joined the team. 

The Holt’s asked for his thoughts on adoption. They included him in the whole process. He was never seen as a stray they found and took on as their own. They told him they loved him. They told him they wanted him to be a part of the family, and only went through with the adoption after Keith took time to think about it. 

They believed in him too much, and it ignited a fury that rattled his very core. However difficult it was to stomach parents who cared about him, he couldn’t deny the fact that their parenting style complemented his competitive nature. Some part of his adolescent logic reassured him that by doing what they wanted, he was sticking it to the system. He didn’t realize how much change had transpired until he received an acceptance letter from the Garrison’s Aerospace program. 

“You know… I was always waiting for you guys to give up on me.” Keith blurted out with no context, tracing at the faded pen marks on Pidge’s arm. 

Pidge sighed and kissed his forehead. “Sometimes I feel like you still are.” She smiled and poked at his nose. “You’re family. We’re family. You are not alone, and you can trust that we’re going to take care of you.”

Keith swallowed thickly, he was so exhausted. He was tired of being so exhausted. He willed himself not to shed any more tears. “I’m… I’m really trying, Katie. It’s just…”

Pidge pulled him close, ignoring personal boundaries. Sometimes there was no other choice. She pressed her cheek to his forehead, her heavy sigh pushed through his messy hair. Keith wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his face into the crook of her neck. He hated how much he depended on her for solidarity, but Pidge was his rock. He never meant to become a burden. 

“You’re hurting Keith,” she murmured, her voice thick. They cried together one too many times. “You have every right to be. Life has consistently served you a massive wad of shit. You’re doing the best you can.”

She ran her fingers through the greasy strands near his crown. 

“I smell like a massive wad of shit.” Keith deflected. Humor and bitterness, always saddled up next to each other. He sniffed and dragged his sleeve across his nose.

Pidge rolled with it and gagged. “Shower time. I’ll brush your hair and braid it all nice and pretty.”

Keith rolled his eyes as she grabbed onto his arm and pulled him up. He limped against her shoulder and Pidge sighed loudly. “Keith…”

“Pidge…”

“Please. I’ll throw all your bedding in the wash. If you want to crawl back in afterward, you’ll at least have clean sheets,” She bargained, poking his bare leg. “I can order chicken wings too, extra spicy.”

Keith’s stomach growled as if on cue. His last “meal” was a handful of Cheerios. 

“Extra ranch and crinkle fries?”

Pidge gave him her best smile, “Wouldn’t have it any other way!” 

~***~

With a glum look on his face, Keith stared down at his phone. Ten messages from Lance. He forgot they exchanged numbers. Ten messages were about the maximum he’d receive a month. Keith grimaced at his phone from the comfort of their creaky couch. Pidge sat next to him, her short legs resting on the black IKEA coffee table in front of them. They spread out on the couch, both in t-shirts and their underwear. 

Pidge lifted her arm, indiscreetly sniffing at the yellow stain on her white, faded Angels and Airwaves t-shirt. They were both horribly sweaty people. Keith rivaled her comfy yet disheveled look in black boxer briefs and an oversized, Flash t-shirt that swallowed his thin frame.

Pidge sported her large, circular glasses as she directed her attention to the television. She sucked at the salt on her fingers from the crispy crinkle fires and rolled her eyes at the contestants on the Great British Bake-Off.

“God, we get it! It has a soggy bottom,” She yelled from beside him, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork. “You ever notice all the sexual innuendos in this show?”

Keith kept his attention on his messages while reaching for some fries. He was perplexed by the singer’s dedication, and his ability to catastrophize. 

“You spoke to Lance.” Keith flatly stated. Pidge, whose head slowly turned, gave him a deer in the headlights look. 

She chewed on her chicken, speaking with her mouth full. “Did he text you?”

Keith scoffed and dropped his phone on her lap. She quickly wiped her fingers on a dirty napkin and held the device close to her face. She pinched at her bottom lip as she frowned. The grey conversation bubbles reflected off her lenses.

**Lance McClain:** Hey, Cheerwine! Still can’t get over what an awesome night that was. Let’s meet up again sometime? 

**Lance McClain:** Hey, is this Keith? It’s Lance. Just worried you didn’t get my first message.

 **Lance McClain:** Never mind! Pidge confirmed that this is your number. Lemme know when you’re free! 

**Lance McClain:** Hey, man… I don’t wanna be overdramatic, but if I did something to piss you off or whatever, you could just tell me… 

**Lance McClain:** Felt like we really clicked? Was that just me?

 **Lance McClain:** Pidge is beating around the bush and won’t tell me what’s wrong. You okay?

 **Lance McClain:** Hello. It’s me. I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet. 

**Lance McClain:** Qué tengo que hacer pa’ que vuelvas conmigo? ;P

 **Lance McClain:** Was it the country name thing? I make jokes when I’m nervous.

 **Lance McClain:** Hey… Hope you’re okay and sorry for all the messages.

“Jesus… this is slightly intense,” She concluded, handing Keith his phone back. “He texted me. Must’ve gotten my number from Hunk. I just told him you were busy. Are you going text him back?”

Keith mulled over the idea as he dunked a piece of chicken into the ranch cup. “Seems kind of clingy.”

Pidge frowned and stretched her arm across the back of the couch, “He seemed like an okay guy. Maybe text him back so he doesn’t cry any more than he has to,” She scoffed, “or write a song about the guy who broke his heart at a Waffle House” 

Keith couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “I can see it now, ” he said placing a closed fist in front of his face mimicking a microphone. 

_“He left me at the Waffle House…”_

Pidge, never one to miss an opportunity to go into a sing-off, mirrored his pose, _“I don’t know why; I don’t know how!”_

_“Jaded and confuse, but what we gotta lose!”_

_“I got them Cheerwine Blues.”_

Keith bit back the laughter clogging his throat, staring at Pidge who held a similar expression. They both burst into laughter that ripped at their ribcages and caused Pidge to go into a coughing fit. Keith wiped tears from the corners of his eyes and reached for his phone. 

“What should I say?” He asked in between laughs. He stretched his arms and legs out with a cat-like finesse, the sound of popping joints sent red flags that he had spent too much time in bed.

Pidge placed her can of Sprite on a DIY Grey’s Anatomy coaster and crossed her arms. “I don’t know, dude. Maybe tell him you were sick. Don’t make it too inviting if you don’t plan on seeing him again.”

Keith chewed on the inside of his cheek, tossing his phone idly from hand to hand. He had a feeling he could tell Lance to “fuck off” and the man would find it inviting.

 **Keith Kogane:** Hey, I know it’s late, but I was really sick this week and wasn’t checking my phone. 

Keith contained his amusement when he immediately saw blinking bubbles indicating Lance was already texting him back. A part of him wasn’t entirely surprised. 

**Lance McClain:** Cheerwine lives!!!! You beautiful grandma. You think 9:26 PM is late? Cute… I’m off this Tuesday. I know a great food truck. Let’s meet up!

Keith rubbed the soft edge of the blanket across his upper lip, concealing a small smile. It had been a while since he displayed romantic interest in anyone, partially because he hadn’t been in public for what felt like an eternity. Partially because the end of his first and only romantic relationship had literally crushed him. 

**Keith Kogane:** Fine. Tell me when and where to meet you. 

**Lance McClain:** Let me know where you’ll be around 1-ish and I’ll pick you up. :) 

**Keith Kogane:** Tell me when and where to meet you. I’ll drive there myself. 

**Lance McClain:** Geez… didn’t realize you were such a feminist. The truck parks at the end of Coral Dr. 

**Keith Kogane:** We’re going on a date at the beach…?

He instantly regretted sending the message without thinking. 

**Lance McClain:** Go big or go home, baby. Look at you calling this a date. I can dig it. I’ll see you Tuesday for our FIRST. DATE. Don’t be late ;) 

Keith bit his lip in a failed attempt at curbing his anticipation. Pidge narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious of their conversation. When Keith caught her stare, he dropped his phone in his lap and extended his arms behind his head. 

Pidge tapped impatiently at her soda can, analyzing Keith’s body language. “You’re totally gonna see him again, aren’t you?”

Keith shrugged, suddenly captivated by the giant flower painting hanging above their couch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

~***~

The heat wave plaguing Leon that summer was unbearable with no end in sight. His black shorts clung to thighs, and he was thankful his loose white shirt wouldn’t reveal the sweat accumulating on his lower back. His outfit was simple, yet Pidge found it appropriate to joke that he looked like he was on his way to a My Chemical Romance concert. 

He pulled into a dirt lot next to the food truck, keeping his gaze on the ocean view in front of him. All of his windows were down, and he appreciated the smell of food and ocean breeze. There was a makeshift path near the lot leading down to the beach. Keith swallowed thickly as a group of eight women loudly tumbled down the path with their beach umbrellas, coolers, and extra-looking cat eye sunglasses. He wasn’t sure why he expected the area to be low-key.

A sound similar to that of a chainsaw roared behind him and caught his attention as he shifted his gaze to his rearview mirror. He watched Lance pull up in his blue Honda Civic EK. A Black Ice Little Tree car freshener rattled against his rearview mirror as the singer threw the car in park. 

Lance’s windows were also rolled down as he turned to grin at Keith. The sound of reggeaton came to a halt when he shut the car off. Keith watched the man quickly check his teeth in the small mirror on his sun visor and threw his hat over his wavy, light brown locks. 

Keith rolled his lips together and looked away. 

“Hey, man!” Lance yelled from his car as he hopped out. Keith took that as his cue and opened his door. 

Lance walked up to his truck, whistling as he grabbed onto the creaky door. “This is a tragic looking ride, babe.”

Keith rolled his eyes and turned in his seat to face the taller man. “Do you always trash talk your dates?”

Lance fixed his aviators on the bridge of his nose, releasing a feather-light laugh and offered his hand to help Keith out of the car. He was wearing a white, low-cut tank with a light grey pocket, mint shorts, and white slip-on Vans. Keith felt something reminiscent to a flutter in his stomach but chopped it up to the anxiety he was feeling about their current situation. 

The number of tattoos decorating Lance’s body came as a surprise. His arms displayed intricate sea related imagery. Keith was captivated by the image of the kraken creeping from his shoulder blade, overtaking a ship going down his arm. Waves drifted to his elbow where they met two solid colored lines, one blue and the other pink, wrapped around his upper forearm. His forearm was covered with a variety of flowers. His left arm had a large koi swimming up a river. His legs weren’t as detailed, but he did have a lion’s face on his right leg. There were more, as his low cut tank teased.

“Enjoying the view?” Lance slyly stated as he walked back toward the food truck. “I like getting drawn on.”

They walked together over to the food truck that was blaring salsa music. It was a dilapidated, white truck with an awning hanging precariously over the small pick up area. Two men and a woman bounced inside, making sure it was ready to go. Apparently, they were just opening. The name _La Rompe Dieta_ was inscribed on the side in faded, black paint.

“Lance! Nene, hace tiempo que no te vemos!” One of the men yelled from the window. He leaned forward, grabbing onto Lance’s shoulders. 

“‘Chacho, pues en el trabajo. Tú sabes como están las cosas.” Lance casually said as they clapped hands, the man pulled Lance up to his tiptoes. Keith was perplexed by Lance’s brand new accent. His light Southern accent was nowhere to be found and was replaced by a strong indistinguishable accent.

“This is my friend, Keith.” The Southern accent magically returned and Keith was left to simply stare at the effortless interaction between the two men.

“Mucho gusto, Keith.” The man greeted, extending his hand out to Keith who hesitantly shook it, not quite sure how to respond. The man chuckled and asked Lance what he would like to order. 

Lance grinned and looked at Keith, “I’m getting us a shit ton of food.”

Keith snorted and rolled his right ankle, subconsciously leaning into the taller man and eyeing the Puerto Rican flag painted across the unique name. “Are you Puerto Rican?”

Lance sucked on a blue-raspberry lollipop the lady had handed him and offered Keith a cherry one before responding, “My mom is. My dad is Cuban-American. We’re… kind of intense.”

Keith quizzically looked at him as he unwrapped his lollipop and rolled it around his mouth. 

“Huge family,” Lance stated, picking up on Keith’s confusion as he reached for his wallet to pay for the meal. “Big personalities, you know?”

“Ah, that explains a lot.” Keith teased, pulling out his own wallet intent on paying for his portion. Lance looked surprised by his attempt at a joke and playfully poked at his side. 

Usually, Keith would have thrown someone through a wall by then given all the physical contact Lance had intentionally or unintentionally been causing between them. He wasn’t one for close proximity with strangers. Something about trust issues. Something about not liking the feeling of someone else’s hands on him. Something about being held was off-putting because it meant he would have to be put back down. Left. Abandoned. 

Can. Worms everywhere. 

Once their food was ready, Lance ran back to his car and grabbed a couple of beach towels and a bottle of sunscreen. As they made their descent to the beach, Lance claimed he knew a “low-key” spot where they could eat in peace. 

“You feeling any better?” Lance asked, bouncing across the rocks with ease. Keith could tell he’d done this before. 

“Yeah, I am. Sorry, it took me a while to get back to you.”

“No worries,” Lance said, crunching on the last bits of his lollipop. “I should be the one apologizing for blowing up your phone.”

Keith was focused on his steps, trying to keep up. “Yeah, what the hell was that about?”

Lance loud laughed before hopping down to the sand. His voice lowered, catching Keith’s attention. “Again, really sorry about that. I just… like you a lot.” 

“You barely know me,” Keith noted defensively, noticing a bit of shyness from Lance. 

He didn’t know why he had to be abrasive. It wasn’t intentional. Sweat dripped down his back. He couldn’t tell if it was because the sun was beating down on him or because Lance was painfully blunt about his feelings. He felt a bit lightheaded. 

“You’re right,” Lance responded, unbothered by his defensive tone. They slowed down in pace as he pointed to his usual spot. “I know I come on a little strong, and I’m working on that. I need to know I gave my best effort in everything that I do, especially when it comes to people I like.”

Again, Keith was caught off guard by his genuineness and almost tripped over a rock. “I was surprised that you text like an actual adult.” 

The insult rolled right off him. 

“Do you always trash talk your dates?”

When they finally reached the spot, Keith was grateful that it was isolated and far enough away from the irritating beachgoers. Lance handed Keith the bag of food while he set up the two dark blue beach towels next to each other. Keith flinched when Lance threw the bottle of sunscreen in his direction telling him he “was gonna need that.” He rolled his eyes, kicked off his shoes, and sat down, watching Lance take out the various containers from the bag. 

Keith could feel his mouth watering at the smell seeping through. Ravenous, he reached for one of the fritters Lance had purchased. Lance swiftly swatted his hand away. “Let me finish setting this up,” He reprimanded and laughed when he saw Keith pout in disappointment. “So here we have bacalaito, which is a codfish fritter.”

Keith stared at all the food and listened carefully to his explanations. Lance passed Keith his own container of rice and beans as they began to eat. They were facing each other, close in proximity. Lance sat crosslegged, balancing his container on his knee. Keith kicked out his right leg, flexing his toes. 

“God, nothing beats fried food. Am I right?” Lance asked, munching happily on his food. 

Keith quietly nodded in agreement and wiped at his mouth. He was trying to organize his thoughts in preparation to speak. 

“Um… I got around to editing some photos from your show,” 

_That wasn’t so hard._

“You look great…”

Lance immediately perked up. 

_Fuckin’ shit…_

“I mean, you looked great in the photos…” He stammered, throwing his hand out to the side. “Like, the photos look good…”  
“It’s okay if they turned you on…” Lance joked, winking and blowing a kiss in his direction.

Keith shook his head in disbelief and returned his attention to his food. This was why he didn’t bother speaking sometimes. 

Typically, he was overly critical of his work but the photos from the Panic We’re Hispanic show turned out well considering. The band had great chemistry. Lance’s confidence stood out the most. He was a beautiful person. His energy was contagious and it showed in all of his photos. 

“So, I couldn’t help but notice you let me do all the talking last time,” Lance pointed out before shoveling some rice into his mouth. “Tell me about yourself, Keith.”

Keith intently chewed his food before responding. “There’s not much to tell.”

Lance dropped his fork and narrowed his eyes. Keith shrugged. 

“C’mon, man. Think of something.”

“Let me rephrase that. There’s not much I want to share.” He said, the corner of his mouth slowly curling up at Lance’s growing agitation. 

“I can tell you don’t do this often,” Lance said, gesturing his hand between the two of them. He meant dating, and he was right. Keith hated this part of relationships. The “getting to know each other” part that scared the bejesus out of him. He was grateful he got to skip that part with Shiro. One of the many perks of dating his best friend. It was easier then.

Everything was a bit easier then… 

He used to cherish quiet moments with Shiro. Contemplative silence, with only their steady breathing to ground them in the moment. They’d lay out in the Holt’s backyard at night staring at the stars. He knew all the constellations and could tell him exactly how gravitational potential influenced the direction of a star’s velocity. 

Keith loved how balanced he was. He spoke proudly of his profession, yet with the same burning passion talked about mythology and astrology… How they were so different despite the fact that they were both water signs. He loved everything to do with space, yet he was the one bringing Keith back down to earth. 

He was the trough. Keith was the crest. He mellowed him out when all Keith wanted to do was to crash head first into the ocean floor. 

_He_ — 

Why did this always happen? Just when Keith thought he could let Shiro go, memories of stargazing and their overall poetic existence crawled back into his lap with no intention of leaving. Keith bit down hard on his fritter. He reached down for a small shell in the sand and flung it out. His agitation was bubbling at the surface. 

Lance shifted his gaze over to Keith after watching the shell fly towards the shore. He grabbed a napkin and dragged it down his mouth. 

“You wanna go swimming?” Lance asked, licking his fork clean. Keith was appreciative that he didn’t press him for any information. 

“Aren’t you not supposed to go swimming after you eat?” 

Lance rolled his eyes and laughed as he lifted his shirt over his head, flinging it onto the beach towels. Keith tried hard not to stare but noticed a simple outline of a crescent moon tattooed over his heart. 

“That’s a myth, babe.” He casually stated, slapping sunscreen on his shoulders. 

Keith dropped his fritter onto his tray when Lance wiped his hand down his face. 

“What are you doing?!” Keith yelled, the smell of sunscreen infiltrated his nose. 

“Take your shirt off and put this shit on,” Lance ordered. “You’re pasty.”

Keith grumbled, shuffling around to his knees. He pulled his shirt over his head and shucked his socks off. 

“Are you in the military?” Lance asked at the sight of the dog tags hanging from Keith’s necklace. 

Keith looked down at the tags before taking them off and putting them in the pocket of the flannel shirt he had unwrapped from his waist. “No… they belong to someone else.”

Lance cocked an eyebrow. “You stole someone’s dog tags?”

Keith sucked at his teeth and snatched the bottle of sunscreen from Lance. He spread thick layers down his arms and across his chest. When he noticed the sneaky smile stretched across Lance’s face, he motioned with his index finger for the man to stop in his tracks. “You’re not helping me with my back.”

Lance huffed in protest, placing his fists on his hips and turned his back to Keith. “I was actually going to ask if you could help me out. I don’t want my tats to fade.”

Lance poked his tongue out at him, as he swung his arms across his body. Keith grimaced when he saw Lance stretch his left arm all the way across his back. 

“All-America swimmer. I’m super bendy.” 

Keith wanted to howl into the wind. 

After they figured out the sunscreen situation, Lance challenged him to a race to the shore. Keith tried dismissing him, but taunting appeared to be one of Lance’s many talents. He knew the exact words that would pierce his skin and burrow deep like a splinter.

Somehow Lance brought out a side of him he thought no longer existed. That spark that jolted through him, energizing him to the point of euphoria. The part of him that used to trespass on school property to spend hours being led by spray cans and paintbrushes. The part of him that used to take Red out mudding in the middle of a rainstorm. The part of him that loved so unrelentingly. 

He missed it. 

A splash of water slapped him across the face and Keith hissed, the salt stinging his eyes. He moved closer to Lance who galloped across the water like an antelope.

He watched as Lance swiftly disappeared under the water, unsure of which direction he went. 

Keith was wary of the ocean. Its enormity was daunting. He preferred the solidity of the earth. Just as he was about to dive under, Keith felt a hand wrap around his leg and pull him down. Keith’s arms flailed in an attempt to maintain his balance, but as soon as he was underwater Lance latched onto him like an octopus and barrel rolled them as a massive wave carried them closer to shore. 

When Keith’s head broke the surface, he shook it violently and coughed up a storm. His hair drooped over his face. 

“What the hell, Lance?!” He yelled, the salt sting lingered. All he could hear was Lance laughing loudly near him. When he could stand opening his eyes, Keith looked over to see the other man spread out on the shore letting the water engulf the lower half of his body. 

Keith watched as Lance rolled over, elbow bent and hand propping his head up. He smirked and crooked a finger in his direction. “Come hither, Fabio.”

He felt his eye twitch at the nickname. He reached for his hair tie, gathering the mop of hair on his head into a bun. “I have one God given name, and it’s Keith.” 

Exasperated, Lance rolled over in his direction. Sand caked on his body. “Didn’t peg you as a Jesus person.” 

Keith pulled his knees close to his chest, hugging his legs. Lance stretched back out dangerously close to him. 

“I’m not.”

“You mad at him?”

“I’m mad at a lot of things.”

Lance sat up, leaning on Keith and resting his head on the shorter male’s shoulder. Keith could feel the hesitation crawling under his skin. His throat ached with bottled up words. 

Keith struggled with communication in his relationships across the board. He was never one for words. Actions spoke volumes, trauma muted everything else. 

Unfortunately, that meant he’d jump ship before anything got too serious. It was easier to remove himself from the equation than risk being figured out. His survival pattern was broken at one point. It stopped working when he found himself in love. 

For some reason, it wasn’t working now. 

_Use your words._

“Are you…” Keith started, rubbing his thumb across his wrist. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Lance didn’t move from his position when he muttered, “No…”

He felt himself reach for Lance’s hand, interlacing their fingers. A simple gesture to most, but not for Keith.

Keith realized he had no idea where he was going with that question or why he asked in the first place. His instinct was telling him it was time to bolt. He made things awkward, and for no reason. 

He shifted to get up, but Lance tightened his grip. He stood up, wordlessly leading Keith back into the water. Keith followed, no questions asked. They swam out a bit farther until they were floating, no longer supported by the ocean floor. 

“I have no idea why—“ Keith started but was cut off when Lance placed his forehead against his own and closed his eyes. 

“It’s okay,” He gently whispered. “I have to admit you kinda scare me.”

Keith would never share he felt the same way. Lance was intimidating simply because he was so genuine in his actions and his words. A small chuckle escaped from him as he reached to wrap his arms around Lance’s neck, closing the space between them. 

“I am kind of a big deal.” He joked, opening his eyes just in time to see Lance smile. Keith stared into sapphire eyes that rivaled the intensity of his own violet irises. Lance’s breathing was steady despite the effort they were both putting forth to stay afloat. 

“I can tell,” Lance admitted, his face tilting to rub his nose against Keith’s. The gesture was gentle and carefree. “I really want to kiss you.”

Keith bit his lip, failing to hide his enthusiasm. “What’s holding you back?”

Lance chuckled, rolling their foreheads back and forth. “The fact that you seem like the kind of guy who punches people that try to kiss you.” 

Keith stopped their synchronized movement to look at Lance through half-lidded eyes. “I won’t punch you. I can’t promise I won’t bite…” He whispered. 

“Good,” Lance declared, his lips brushed up against the corner of Keith’s mouth. “I can’t either.” 

Keith felt a shiver run down his spine when Lance squeezed his hips and pressed their lips together. The kiss was initially slow and soft as they explored each other’s boundaries, but Keith was infamous for his paper-thin patience. He pulled back a bit to catch his breath before slipping his tongue into Lance’s mouth. His hand slid across broad shoulders and up the back of Lance’s neck, curling into wet hair.

He felt Lance tenderly cup his face. The red tongue ring dragged across the roof of his mouth, and Keith felt his head spin. Warning sounds were blaring in his head begging him to stop, but he couldn’t. He wanted more. 

Keith sucked on the tip of Lance's tongue when he felt the man pull away. He pouted in disappointment. 

“Wow,” Lance breathed, letting out an airy laugh. Their foreheads remained close together. “As amazing as that was… we may wanna move this elsewhere before we drown.” 

~***~

He anxiously tapped at his steering wheel while staring at Camila in traffic. The license plate read: LANCEY. 

Lance’s arm casually swayed outside the window to the sound of Bubble Pop Electric blaring from his speakers. 

After swimming back to shore, they continued their make-out session on the beach towels until Lance rolled them over their food containers. Lance suggested they go to his place. Hunk was in classes, so they’d have the apartment to themselves. 

“God, I’m such a slut…” Keith muttered to himself. He looked over at his phone and saw a message from Pidge. 

**Katie Holt:** Hey, how’s it going?

 **Keith Kogane:** Fine. Going to his place. 

Keith set his phone down as they began moving and checked it again when he pulled up and parked on a gravel driveway. Lance and Hunk lived in a large house remodeled into four apartments. They shared the largest apartment with two bedrooms. Keith looked down at his phone and smiled at the three barfing emojis Pidge sent. 

**Katie Holt:** Gross. Make sure your condoms aren’t expired.

Keith watched as Lance ran out of his car and up to the porch. He unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of his vehicle. It was an awful idea to go barefoot. Lance ran back down with a small handheld vacuum and smiled at Keith who gave him an extremely confused looked. 

“Sorry, babe. Gotta get all that sand out of Camila.” Lance explained as he aggressively began vacuuming his seat and floor mats. Keith snorted and walked up the driveway, sitting down on the steps leading up to the porch. 

Keith was surprised to find out that Lance was a neat freak. Before entering the apartment, he splashed Keith’s legs with water to get rid of the excess sand. When they finally made it inside Lance offered to let Keith use his bathroom to shower. 

Stunned, Keith stared at the contents in the other man’s bathroom. He had no idea what to use. Keith never pampered himself. He owned a bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, soap, and a mild acne cleanser. Lance’s endless stash of beauty products overwhelmed him. 

He was brought out of his trance when he heard a knock at the door. 

“Are you decent?” Lance asked. Keith reached to open the door to let him in. Lance pushed his way through into the small bathroom. 

“Figured you’d be confused on what to use, so allow me to give you some recommendations.” Lance eagerly suggested as he began rummaging underneath the sink. A purple towel wrapped snugly around his waist. Keith, unashamed, checked him out as his towel shifted down a bit to reveal the Latino had gotten darker in the short span of time they spent at the beach. 

The kraken tattoo stretched to the middle of his upper back and was supported by delicate flowers tattooed in a traditional style. As Lance shuffled products around, Keith noticed a name tattooed on the side of his ribcage. 

“Who’s Allura?” Keith asked, crossing his arms. Lance tensed up and jerked his head upward, banging it on the countertop. 

“Fuck!” Lance howled, rubbing the back of his head. Keith quickly extended his hand out to see if he was okay, but Lance stood up closing his eyes tight. Keith tried not to laugh as the taller man composed himself, pressing his fist to his mouth as he hummed. 

Once calm and collected, Lance handed him a few products. “Shampoo, conditioner, and a hair mask to see if it’ll help that mop on your head. There are a few kinds of soap in the bathtub.”

Keith watched as Lance bent back down, grabbed a few products and bolted out the door. 

After their showers, they sat down at the small, round dining table in the kitchen finishing up the bit of food Lance had salvaged. Keith was in a much better mood. His hair felt fantastic, and his skin felt thoroughly clean. Pampering apparently had its perks. 

Lance sat across from him, his hair was towel dried and pointing in every direction. His eyes were red from the salt water. He wore glasses with a missing arm. 

They both sat in silence. Lance rested both of his elbows on the table, his skin glistened from the aloe vera he lathered on himself. It was clear not many people saw Lance in this state. 

Keith dropped his fork down into his empty container and stretched his arms out, “That was really good.”

The comment seemed to lift Lance’s spirits as he looked up and gave him a small smile. “Glad you liked it.” He watched as Lance reached over and opened up one of the brown, glass bottles he had gotten from the food truck and took a sip. Keith learned it was a carbonated malt beverage and was quite tasty. 

Keith straightened his posture, analyzing Lance’s body language. He was clearly in his head, and probably trying to figure out what to say. Keith tried his best to give the man space to talk whenever he was ready. It didn’t take long. 

“She’s my ex,” Lance said, tapping the glass bottle on the rim of the table before setting it down. He pulled the towel off his shoulders and ran it through his hair, letting it rest on top of his head. 

Keith briefly contemplated his response. He stretched out his arm, resting his right hand on the table. 

“I got that for an ex.” He pointed at the small, red line tattooed around his pinky finger. 

Lance shifted his position to stare at his finger. “You can barely see it.”

“Yeah, I’m due for a touch-up.” 

“Why not just let it fade?” Lance questioned, crossing his arm. It was Lance’s turn to analyze him. 

Keith curled his fingers, lightly knocking on the table before letting out a sigh. He couldn’t respond because he didn’t know the answer himself. He shrugged and looked up at Lance, searching for some shred of empathy. Thankfully he didn’t appear disappointed, more so curious. 

“Dog tags was _your_ ex.” Lance bluntly concluded, tapping his bare foot on top of Keith’s. 

Keith momentarily closed his eyes and scratched at his jaw. He figured if things with Lance were going anywhere beyond their first date, he’d find out sooner or later. Perhaps not every detail… 

Even so, he hated the fact that it was already out there. Keith tried not to wear his heart on his sleeve, but the wound was in many ways still fresh. He mourned in isolation. A part of him was not surprised his pain was making an appearance so early in his newly developing social life. It was infuriating what little control he had over his emotions. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. His leg bounced away, trying to the expel the anxiety that was overriding his system. 

“Y-yeah,” He confirmed, his voice faltering.

“Keith…” He heard Lance whisper, a gentle hand was placed on his tense shoulder. He felt Lance scoot closer to him, expanding his reach across his back. Keith attempted to steady his breathing. 

“Trust me, you’re not alone,” Lance reassured, resting his head on Keith’s shoulder and continuing to rub his back. “My situation with Allura is fucked up too.”

Lance was incredibly patient and held his hand once he was able to settle down. They walked back to Lance’s room where Keith flopped down on the plush mattress and stared up at the ceiling fan that wobbled above him. 

Lance’s room was small, fitting only a queen sized mattress with cerulean sheets on a metal bed frame, a small end table, and a dresser near the closet door. Floating shelves on the walls sported trophies and knickknacks. His walls were covered in band posters and photographs. A large bulletin board hung above the side table and was littered with cards and photos of his family. 

Keith sat up to further examine the space. The walk-in closet was massive, and not at all what Keith was expecting to see. 

“Wow, I thought I had a lot of shoes,” Keith noted as he walked into the closet. Lance apparently owned every style of Vans. Keith was more of a Converse guy. 

“Ha… yeah. I have a problem.” Lance casually responded. Keith took note of his organized space, feeling less self-conscious about the level of care he gave his own personal belongings. He had no other choice growing up. 

He walked back out and leisurely perused through Lance’s belongings. The trophies on his wall were mostly for swimming and robotics, but interestingly there were a few for dance. 

“So you really are a dancer?” Keith asked, his fingers scratching idly at his nape. He turned to see Lance lounging on the bed, watching him. 

“Not at all in the professional sense,” Lance clarified, using a strange instrument to trim his cuticles. “Those are from competitions at nightclubs. You never know when you’ll catch yourself in the middle of a dance-off.”

Something about that was highly amusing to Keith. He couldn’t dance to save his life. 

He continued browsing through the photographs on the bulletin board, most of which were of his family. There was one featuring a younger Hunk and Lance holding what appeared to be a robot. Lance had a cheesy grin plastered on his face, while Hunk proudly showed off the first-place medal. 

“We were paired up at a robotics tournament and won,” Lance explained, startling Keith with his close proximity. “That’s how we met.”

He looked back at one of the framed photographs next to the bulletin board. Lance was not lying when he said he had a large family. The photograph was a group photo showcasing the entire McClain family. The picture could not have been more than a couple years old, given that Lance did not look too different. He stood next to what Keith assumed were his other siblings, a young baby in his arms. 

“You have nieces and nephews,” Keith said to himself. He watched as Lance’s fingers pointed out some of his family members. He explained the origin of his American last name — how his family had encountered numerous obstacles when they first moved to the South. 

His mother refused to have any of the children bare her last name for fear they would be discriminated against. It was a tradition among some Latinos to carry both of their parents’ last names. Lance disclosed he had thought about adding his mother’s name, but ultimately decided it would be best to respect his mother’s wishes.

“Unofficially, my name is Lance Santiago McClain Castillo de Leon,” Lance shared. “It’s a mouth full. Maybe one day I’ll revisit it.”

Keith was intrigued, swooped into Lance’s world. He continued his quiet exploration while Lance talked about his family until he came across of a photo of the same baby Lance was holding in the family photograph. She had the most beautiful blue eyes, her skin a dark caramel color. Her stark white hair was the most striking feature. 

He took a step back and saw that there were various photographs of the same baby, but at different stages. One showcased her on a tricycle with short pigtails, a pink hoodie, white leggings, and metallic pink slip-on Vans. She had the cheesiest grin… He glanced back and forth between the robotics photo and the child.

“Oh my God…” 

Lance stopped talking. Keith had no idea what the topic had transcended to at that point. 

“What?” Lance asked, following Keith’s line of sight. 

“You have a kid, is what,” Keith answered with a huff, turning and crossing his arms. 

He watched as Lance curled his lips inward, trying his best not to smile. “…Surprise?”

“Why was that not the first thing you told me about your family?” Keith questioned, moving past Lance to sit at the edge of the bed. He immediately stood up again, pointing a finger at the taller man. “Is that what you meant by having a ‘fucked up’ situation with your ex?!”

Lance raised his hands defensively, sensing Keith’s rage beginning to rise. “No, no, no! Jesus, no. Yes, that’s my daughter. Her name is Luna. She’s three years old.” 

Keith’s eyes shot down to the crescent moon tattooed over his heart. Lance gave him a sheepish smile. 

“It was fucked up how the relationship ended, you know?” Lance quickly clarified, scratching at his temple.

Keith fell backward on the mattress, staring at the ceiling fan again. Uncomplicated people didn’t exist. He wasn’t upset that Lance had a child, but more so the fact that there was no way this could ever be a low-maintenance relationship. His morbid side was now aching for the one night stand. His moral side was kicking him in the ass for even thinking that. 

He felt Lance crawl into bed beside him. The singer propped his head up and stared at Keith, drawing small circles on his chest as he spoke. “Look, I didn’t mention anything right off the bat because I know this is a deal breaker for a lot of people. I’m sorry, I wanted you to get to know me…”

“Where is she now?” Keith quietly asked, turning to curl up next to Lance. He felt the taller man rest his chin on top of his head and sigh almost in relief. 

“We have a weird custody arrangement. She just went back with Allura after spending the summer with me.” Lance answered, running a hand through Keith’s hair.

Keith lightly dragged his finger across Lance’s collarbone. “How’d you meet her?”

“Fuckin’ robotics tournament.” Lance groaned, rolling over and covering his face with his arm. 

“Wow, nerds gone wild,” Keith stated with a snort. He laughed when Lance kicked at his leg. “Do you see her often?”

Lance shook his head. “I haven’t seen her in three years. Her father’s assistant drops Luna off.”

Keith frowned, sensing the bitterness dripping from his tone.

“Well, enough _Sob Stories_ by Lance,” he declared, crossing his arms behind his head. “Why don’t you tell me about Dog Tags?”

Keith froze and pouted, “Not now, okay?”

He heard Lance hum and suddenly the taller man was on top of him, looking straight into his eyes. “Sounds fair, but maybe you should talk about it sometime. Besides, I done spilled the beans for you.”

Keith absentmindedly ran his hands up Lance’s back. “I’ll think about it.”

Lance planted a small kiss on his mouth. Keith had a feeling this would be a problem. He was enjoying himself. He was enjoying Lance’s company. His touch. His kisses. His ass.

He felt Lance smirk against his lips as his hands wandered downward. His skin was soft and warm. Lance smelled like coconuts and aloe. 

He was suddenly aware of how skin hungry he was. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone in over two years. It was a sad and isolated existence, which helped him rationalize the hastiness in his behavior. He needed this. He deserved this. He desperately wanted to throw caution to the wind and fuck Lance into the mattress right then and there.

His body felt a million degrees. Keith pushed himself up off the mattress to fling his shirt to the ground, his breathing picked up in pace. He wrapped an arm around Lance’s neck, pulling him back down into a feverish kiss. 

Keith ran his fingers down his back, settling at the base of Lance’s spine. Lance groaned into his mouth. Keith enjoyed the way Lance wasn’t holding back either, moving to kiss down his neck. They momentarily paused, Keith felt Lance’s breath fan across his chest. He watched as Lance willed himself to pull away from him. 

“God, I want to be so bad,” Lance admitted, slightly out of breath. Keith sat up, nipping at his collarbone. 

“Let’s be bad together,” Keith encouraged, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Lance’s shorts. 

“Fuck,” Lance’s breath hitched as Keith slipped a hand down his shorts, palming him through the soft fabric of his boxer briefs. 

He wanted to ravage Lance’s body with kisses. He wanted Lance to claw at his back. The fantasies were piling up on one another and Keith felt overstimulated.

Lance flopped down onto his back, his legs hanging over the edge of the mattress. Their lips joined again, but the kiss was less tender. It was sloppy and wet. The sound of their moans and quick breaths filled the room. 

Beneath him, he felt Lance spread his legs and glide his hand down his taut abdomen passed the waistband of his underwear. Keith moaned into the crook of his neck. He pushed himself off the bed and knelt down to the floor in between smooth brown legs. He pressed his lips against Lance’s warm skin leaving a trail of wet kisses up his thigh. 

“Condoms,” Lance abruptly stated, bringing Keith back to reality. “Be right back.”

Keith frowned as Lance ran out of the room. He licked his lips and caught his breath as he kicked his shorts off before standing up to go after Lance. The idea of bathroom sex was enticing. He poked his head out of the door as he heard the other man rummaging through the contents of his sink and made his way to the bathroom. He scurried down the small hall to surprise Lance, an air of playfulness giving him a confidence boost when a different voice halted him in his tracks.

“Keith?” 

Mortified, Keith turned to see Hunk staring at him with a puzzled look. The red tint of euphoria drained from his cheeks as he became highly aware of his boner. Ashamed, and with nowhere to hide, Keith kept his back slightly turned, facing the bathroom door. 

“H-Hunk...”

“Ready or not, Cheerwine. Here I co—“ 

Keith was beet red again, horrified when Lance stepped out with condoms and a bottle of lube. The look on Hunk’s face was priceless. Somewhere in between wanting to die, yet not surprised.

“Oh! Hey, man!” Lance stated as casually as he could muster. His eyes darted nervously between both men. 

Hunk rolled his lips together at the sight and cleared his throat. “Lance, a word?”

Keith was overwhelmed and embarrassed. All of his giddiness had evaporated into thin air. His brain immediately went into overdrive trying to figure out an escape plan. 

To make matters worse, Lance handed him the contraband, grabbing a towel from the bathroom to wrap himself in as he walked with Hunk into the living room. Keith scattered off to Lance’s bedroom, only catching bits and pieces of their conversation. 

“Seriously…”

“Hunk, we were just—“

Keith dropped the condoms and grabbed the basketball shorts from the ground. A part of him was already trying to repress the incident. He grumbled, flinging Lance’s shirt over his head, not caring if it was inside out or backward. He wanted to leave. He paced around the room, debating on leaving his shoes and escaping through the window. He could hotwire Red, it wouldn't be the first time. 

His dog tags. 

He patted his chest and ran a hand through his hair. He tried settling down to concentrate and figure out where he left them. 

_The flannel shirt._

He was momentarily brought out of his anxiety-induced thought process when Lance returned to the room. 

“Hey, sorry about that.”

“I need to go—“

“Keith,” Lance stood still in front of the door. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know he was gonna come back early.”

Keith was overwrought with emotion, and couldn’t think straight. His thoughts bounced around his mind like a pinball machine. “I just… I don’t know what got into me. I need to leave.”

“It’s okay—“

“No!” Keith interrupted, raising his voice in nervousness. “I don’t want you to think… I don’t want Hunk to think that I’m…”

“Hey…” Lance softly stated, his long arms circling around his waist. “No one is judging you. Trust me.”

Keith sighed, his arms hung by his sides in defeat as Lance ran a reassuring hand down his back. 

~***~

A light purple hue from a touch screen console brightened his face. He stared down at the matte black Tesla emblem. His hands slowly reached up to grip the steering wheel. 

Keith swallowed thickly. His arms shook as tears streamed down his face. 

“I’m sorry, Takashi,” Keith whispered, tightly squeezing his eyes shut. His hands covered his face in shame. Waves of sadness eroded the walls inside, leaving a pitiful structure behind. His shoulders shook as he sobbed uncontrollably. A painful scream ripped at his throat. The guilt nestled in his heart scratched away at the weakened tissue. 

He smacked the steering wheel and slammed a fist on the dash. His lungs burned and his chest ached. 

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…” 

_Keith… I love you..._

_Keith…_

_…Keith_

_I love…_


	3. Hate In My Heart, Love In My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of processing for Keith in this chapter. A lot of trauma-focused details. 
> 
> I'm thinking of adding a Lance-centric chapter soon... Thoughts?

The idea of having people in his life that cared about him was something Keith had never gotten quite used to despite being a part of his adopted family for almost seven years. He spent the majority of his life in a state of anxiety, wondering if he’d ever feel whole again. Anxiety pumped through his veins, often serving as his primary energy source. For better or worse. 

There were times when the fog became so dense from the firefight in his mind that he couldn’t recount the events of a singular day.

Trauma, a dark, ominous creature dwelled in the fog feasting off his fears and insecurities. Keith referred to it as the Black Lion. It was easier to conceptualize.

The Black Lion wouldn’t let him see. Unapproachable, Keith would tiptoe around it. He was left to stand in a barren landscape with no compass. There were no stars in sight to lead him home. 

Keith had been seeing a therapist for what felt like an eternity. The woman knew everything about him, and for a while, that thought disturbed him. He grew closer to his therapist over the last two years mainly because she was the person he yelled and argued at when it was no longer socially appropriate to transfer his frustration and sadness onto his family. 

That in and of itself was a major improvement. 

After being forced to take a leave of absence from his university program, Keith went back home to the Holt’s where he endured the worst part of his recovery. Countless nights were spent on the floor underneath his bed with his adoptive father, Sam, trying to coax him out. 

_Regression_ is what the experts called it.

He called it _survival instincts_. 

When every cell in his body was telling him he shouldn’t be there, crawling under his bed was the only way he coped with reality. It was the only way to stay rooted. Planting his back into hardwood floors, praying for stability in all its capacities. Keith never forgot how Sam would crawl underneath the bed to spend time with him.

_Son, I know you’re hurting. I just want you to know that we’re here for you. We love you._

Once upon a time, his spirit burned brightly. The night he lost Shiro he watched as that flame took its last breath before morphing into dark smoke leaving behind soot coated walls. The room no longer occupied. No longer shared. No longer lived in. He was afraid to go in and clean. 

He would never be the same. He mapped his entire journey into young adulthood around Shiro and was left with nothing. It was naïve, but he was in love. He finally had the feeling he long for. Dreamed about. Wished for. One time even prayed for. It was finally his and he would do anything in his power to keep it close. To keep it safe. 

For two years he lived a life of fantasy where he realized he didn’t have to be haunted by his childhood. Those early mornings where he woke up to feed children or the late nights he spent helping his foster mom with her counterfeit Mary-Kay side hustle no longer defined the person he aspired to be.

He grew too comfortable with Shiro. People threw around the word “kept.” Keith threw punches. 

“Think out loud, Keith.”

Keith bit at the inside of his cheek, testing out the waters with his response. “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

He watched as his therapist’s eyes and smile widen. Keith looked down at the carpet trying to hide his amusement. “We’re not dating or anything… We met at a concert I went to with Pidge a few weeks ago. He’s in a band.”

“You’ve come a long way.”

Keith’s expression shifted. His eyebrows furrowed and he leaned over to cradle his head in his hands. “I honestly don’t know what I’m doing. Lance is… different.”

“Different?” She reflected.

“He’s not Shiro…” Keith admitted out loud. His chest burned. The words left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. He was exhausted. He was tired of missing him, but no part of him was willing to let go. 

It hurt to verbalize the words; he had no business comparing the two men. They were completely different. His mind was still wired to focus on the potential he had with Shiro. A part of him felt guilty for holding that over the musician’s head. The ambiguity of their situation was new territory for Keith. 

He felt guilty for even trying to be with Lance. 

It was a challenge conceptualizing Lance as a separate being — a whole new person in his life. He had qualities that fascinated Keith. Qualities he wished he could embody. They balanced each other out in a way because there was an equal playing field. That wasn’t the case with Shiro; he had a set course. Keith often felt as though he trailed behind greatness.

“He’s not Shiro, and that’s painful and frightening.”

Keith nodded. “I saw everything in Shiro…”

He paused to contemplate his words. There was so much he wanted to expel. So much he wanted to let go of and never see again. 

“Everyone said I wasn’t right for him,” he shared, staring at the orange carpet. “I kept trying to deny it because what we had was… It was perfect to me, but they were right. Had we not dated he would still be—“

“That’s not fair at all and I know you know that. You’re not the reason Shiro died. We’ve discussed this before.”

Keith crossed his arms tightly. He sighed and closed his eyes. “He was everything…” Keith felt his throat closing up on him. His pain continued dragging him through the mud. He had no energy to fight it. Defeated several times over, he no longer had the strength to defend himself.

Their love was everything, but sometimes he was afraid to admit that it could have been built on idolatry and escapism. He often referred to Shiro as his other half signifying that somehow he was incomplete before him. Was that the case? The question remained unanswered still. As he traversed the different caverns in his mind he found that perhaps he wasn’t as disjointed as he believed. His therapist was keen on reminding him of that discovery. 

“You’re everything now, Keith. I need you to believe that. You are worthy of being everything and anything. You are worthy of making your life what you want it to be. Not what Shiro wanted. Not what Sam and Colleen want it to be,” She stated, shifting her legs. “You have that power. Give yourself some credit.”

Keith glared at her, not appreciating where this was going. He hated her pep talks, mostly because they were comforting. They had long since established that his self-loathing was keeping him rooted in a stagnant position. It blinded him to the possibility that he could be happy. Combined with his abandonment issues, Keith was left defenseless to the wrought of negative thoughts shielding his potential. An image of happiness seemed out of reach.

“Tell me one thing you feel proud of at this moment. Go.” She challenged. He rolled his eyes at her simplicity. 

“I don’t know.”

“Try again.”

Keith rolled his lips together and stood from on the couch. When he was irked he paced to physically expel the annoyance. Running used to take care of those feelings.

“I've been on dates. I took the time to edit photos from the concert. I have a few ideas for another photoshoot I want to do. I… I sat in Shiro’s car…”

“In _the_ car?”

“No… The one he left outside of my apartment building,” he corrected. His fists sat on his bony hips as he let out a harsh sigh and hung his head. 

“I’m… I’m proud of the fact that I’m even giving this thing with Lance a chance…”

“No one deserves that chance more than you. You have no idea how happy it makes me hearing these things from you, Keith.”

“Stop being a sap…” He flopped back down on the couch and tapped repeatedly on his knee. He could feel something bubbling inside of him, but that was all he allowed himself to share. His therapist picked up on his body language and discontinued pressing him for details. 

It was all new with Lance, and having to start from scratch intimidated him. The first hurdle was laying down a solid foundation. Keith was never good at that. A solid foundation meant a stable core that could eventually support a structure. That structure could be home, but "home" was Shiro for the longest time. 

“Have you talked to him about what happened?” She asked when she noticed his distant stare.

Keith swallowed thickly. “Not really. He knows there’s an ex, but I don’t know what I’d say.”

“Just know that you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Take your time with this," she suggested as Keith remained silent staring at his shoes. "Don’t forget to be gentle with yourself.” 

Lance wasn’t replacing Shiro. Lance wasn’t pushing Shiro away from him. The universe had taken care of that like an expert criminal dusting its hands and disposing of the shovel.

~***~

**Lance McClain:** Hey, babe ;) wyd?

 **Keith Kogane:** Snuggling with Pidge on the couch.

 **Lance McClain:** Boooo! Come over. Hunk’s staying with Shay for a few days. We can snuggle all you want. :P 

**Keith Kogane:** I sweat a lot. 

**Lance McClain:** Saucy. You, me, sweat. See you in an hour?

“God, nothing repels this guy!” Pidge huffed, tossing Keith’s phone onto his lap from the other side of the couch. 

Keith licked white powder off his fingers and passed Pidge the bag of Little Debbie doughnuts. He stared at his phone to see what they were messaging about, grimacing at the peach and eggplant emojis Lance responded with. 

He contemplated the ramifications of inviting Lance over. They were arguably floating in a sea of ambiguity. Neither one of them were willing to “put a label on it,” yet it oddly felt as though they were dating. Surprisingly, Lance asked him out on a second date and a few dates after that. Keith even invited him out for coffee. Pidge fist bumped him on his way out for that one. 

It boiled down to the small victories. 

“I’m thinking of inviting him over,” Keith stated, lifting the Garrison blanket to cover his mouth. “That okay with you?”

Pidge twirled a chunk of her bangs around her index finger as she chewed on a doughnut. She supported the Lance Thing, and the two of them had surprisingly hit it off. One late night at Waffle House, Lance and Pidge discovered they were obsessed with the same video games and loved the garlic knots from Lorenzo’s Pizzeria. The thought of them bonding caused an inexplicable warm feeling in his chest. 

“It’s your place. I don’t want to do anything you’d be uncomfortable with.”

“It’s our place,” She corrected. “Dude, what’s going on between you two?” Pidge asked, lifting her arms up into a stretch. She leaned over to pass Keith a doughnut. 

Keith shrugged taking the pastry and shoving it in his mouth. White powder puffed out as he spoke. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.”

He diverted his gaze away from Pidge who scrutinized him with her stare. He could never hide anything from her. Their friendship was founded on overt honesty. Pidge was the first person Keith came out to. Keith was the first person Pidge came out to. They were each other’s safety net. Ride or dies. A sibling relationship couldn’t adequately describe the connection they fostered in a short amount of time together. 

As they grew older, that honesty became blunt and harsh. They knew how to work around emotionally charged situations, at least amongst themselves. The challenge was applying that emotional intelligence to other relationships. For Keith, it exclusively worked that way with her. Anything else exceeded his mental bandwidth. 

He butted heads with Shiro about it, but not in the way he was expecting to. Sometimes it felt as though Keith was pulling teeth to get Shiro to emote. The man internalized everything. 

Pidge pulled the neckline of her oversized I Love New York shirt over her nose to cover her mouth, letting the shirt pop off her face. “So basically you’re avoiding talking to him about it.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Keith pointedly stated, wanting to put an end to the topic. He kicked his legs off the couch and walked over to the kitchen, throwing the bag down on the counter before washing his hands in the sink. 

Pidge sat up, sensing a shift in his tone. “Are you gonna invite him over.”

“Not in the mood anymore,” Keith replied, drying his hands on his boxer briefs. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and his phone from the couch, making his way down the hallway to his room. 

“Are you angry at me for calling you out on your shit, Kogane?!” Pidge yelled from the couch, unable to see him curl his lip as he entered his room. 

“Yeah!” 

He heard her groan as he shut the door behind him, looking at his phone that had another message from Lance showing three question marks. 

**Keith Kogane:** Not in the mood. And you were hitting on Pidge. 

**Lance McClain:** I’m not opposed to a threesome. ;)

Keith sucked at his teeth and threw his phone on his bed, flopping down and curling himself into his blanket. A part of him knew why he was hesitant about moving forward with Lance. He was immature and self-absorbed with an ego the size of Texas. He found himself trying to hold onto the moments where Lance would show depth, but those were rare and specific. 

His therapist warned him about going down that rabbit hole, saying that he could get caught up in comparisons and “what-ifs”. The turmoil was picking away at healing scabs.

He remained still in his makeshift blanket burrito with his head poking out. He stared at the empty side of the bed in disdain. Shiro was adamant about sleeping on the left side. Something about IT-band pain in his right leg. Keith didn’t care what side he slept on as long as they were together. The thought of pressing his face into Shiro’s warm back filled him with sadness. 

He missed him most at night. He spent the majority of his time at Shiro’s loft. Keith rarely saw him during the day unless he went to his lab, and that was if the older man wasn’t body deep in a project. He cherished the evening times and weekends when he would have Shiro all to himself. They made it a priority to be home in the evenings to have dinner together. 

On quieter evenings, Shiro would stretch out on his sectional reading a Sci-Fi novel as Keith drew in his sketchbook. The majority of the drawings were studies of Shiro. He never stayed in one position too long. His favorite was when he rested on his arm idly scratching at the nape of his neck. 

At night they would lay in Shiro’s king-sized bed covered in blankets. Shiro liked to sleep under layers and Keith burrowed into his armpit making the older man laugh. Sometimes he thought of how cheesy their relationship was, but for a while, he believed they were truly made for each other. Shiro was his first love. 

Keith squinted to avoid oncoming tears. Rage barreled inside of him, pushing against his core. At some point, it had to burst. He carried the sadness of being abandoned one too many times. It all came spilling out when the doctor confirmed Shiro’s death. Abandonment finally wore him down. 

The images. The images wouldn’t leave him. They were visceral, pulling physical responses from the deepest layer of tissue. 

The earth-shattering scream that ripped from his vocal cords. The crashing wave of tears cascading down his bloodied face. His soul darkened that day. Everything went silent afterward. What little faith he had in humanity, what little faith he had in a concept of resiliency faded away with Shiro’s spirit. 

He wanted nothing to do with hope. Fate had knocked on his door one too many times. Sometimes on his darkest days, he would wonder why he was put on this Earth. Was he only meant to suffer? Was there a reason why no one could stay? 

Was his tarnished heart on display?

Keith wiped at his nose as a memory from his childhood suddenly resurfaced. He found himself sitting in an old church with a few of his foster siblings. Keith was never one for religion. God forbid he’d ever voice his opinion on the matter. 

He sat next to three other preteens who held on tightly to their Bibles as if their lives depended on it. The pastor rambled on about connections and relationships, but one comment snuck into Keith’s ear planting a seed of doubt. 

_There are people who are destined to be alone, but that’s okay. God’s love will be enough…_

In that moment he was formally introduced to his biggest fear, and she was a bitch. 

His therapist called the pastor an idiot. 

Keith accepted that there was no way God had any love to spare. 

Keith looked down at his pinky finger. It had been a while since he touched up the red line. What was the point? The person on the other end of the string no longer existed. His body was crushed inside a ’69 Mustang. 

The stark image of his mangled right arm was unforgettable. 

_“911. What’s your emergency?”_

_“I have a little boy sittin’ here in my store. Looks like his mama up and left him.”_

_“Accident…”_

_“Sir, were you in an accident? Do you know your location?”_

_“Accident… mom… Please…”_

_“Sir, are you with your mother?”_

_“Mommy…”_

_“Sir, can you give me your location?”_

_“Keith…”_

_“Broad Street… There’s so much blood, mom.”_

_“Sir, who else is with you?”_

_“My partner… his arm is broken.”_

Keith’s breathing immediately picked up at the thought. The memories entered his consciousness like flood waters bursting through a feeble fence. 

They were covered in blood. 

They were standing together holding hands. 

_What?_

He closed his eyes begging the images to disappear. He rolled out of bed, pacing back and forth, jamming his palms into his eyes until he saw bright spots.

The Black Lion was in a defensive position, and Keith knew it was time to run. The lion was ferocious and untamed.

He eventually gathered the strength to run out of his room into the living room. The lights were off as Pidge lounged on the couch watching YouTube videos. 

“Figured you’d gone to bed…” She pointed out without looking up from her phone. 

Keith sat on the carpet, pressing his back against the couch behind him. 

“He died in my arms.”

Pidge shot up from her position, kicked the blanket off her legs, and settling down next to Keith who was trembling. 

“He died in my arms. Katie,” His chest sunk with each exhale. “He told me he loved me. I didn’t say anything.”

“Keith, you were in shock. It’s impossible to function…”

“He told me he loved me twice before dying,” Keith repeated. He looked straight through her with eyes the size of saucers. “I didn’t say anything.”

Pidge sat in silence next to him, understanding that he needed the space to process this on his own. She extended her open hand in his direction. He ran his fingers up and down her palm. They sat together for hours. 

“I don’t think I’m ever coming back from this.” His voice weakened from exhaustion and forlornness. 

“Keith, you’ve already made so much progress,” Pidge exclaimed, squeezing his hand. “You went on a date for crying out loud! You got caught on the verge of having sex with another man. That’s… hilarious, but progress!”

Keith pressed his lips into a hard line trying not to laugh at the memory of Hunk’s face. He closed his eyes when he felt Pidge rest her head on his shoulder. 

“Change doesn’t happen overnight,” She continued. She was wise beyond her years. “You have every right to be afraid, but maybe it’s time to take some risks.”

He knew what was holding him back with Lance. He wanted to minimize it to his immaturity. It was easy to put the blame on someone else when in fact he was afraid of what they could have. He was petrified of all the small, honest moments they already shared and they barely knew each other. 

There was an answer to her earlier question. Rejection was his greatest fear, and so far life had rejected him in the cruelest of ways. He feared that his heart couldn’t sustain another direct hit. 

He feared the potential.

~***~

**Bougie Bitches**

**Lance McClain:** So I picked up pizzas and beer. What else y’all need?

 **Katie Holt:** What about the chicken dip?

 **Hunk Garrett:** Gotcha covered, my dude. Gotta surprise dessert too.

 **Katie Holt:** We have the rest of the food. Wide selection of movies. Bring your games, blankets, and pillows. 

**Lance McClain:** Babe, want me to pick something up for you on the way? ;)

 **Keith Kogane:** Vanilla Coke.

 **Lance McClain:** You got it, bb  <3

 **Hunk Garrett:** Hate to interrupt this blatant preferential treatment, but I’m also bringing sweet tea. 

**Hunk Garrett:** I swear to God, Keith, if you tell me you don’t like sweet tea I might have to pound on you a bit. 

**Keith Kogane:** It’s decent…

 **Lance McClain:** That sounds problematic. I’ll give him a good spanking. 

**Katie Holt:** This conversation is over. Y’all have 30 minutes to get here. 

Keith set his phone aside as he tasted the chili he was cooking for their “Epic Weekend Slumber Party” as Lance dubbed it. He was also responsible for the name of their group chat. It was between Bougie Bitches and Waffle House Crew. Keith rejected any affiliation with the restaurant. 

The week had gone fairly smooth despite his minor setback with Pidge. He felt a bit more energized and began looking for some part-time work to keep him busy. Sam called to see if he was up for a meeting with the Dean at the Garrison to discuss his return. Keith shared he wasn’t sure if he was ready yet. 

If he was being completely honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back at all. Returning to the Garrison meant remembering everything he lost. He struggled enough letting go of the fact that he would have graduated a semester after the accident.

Expectations were intricately carved into his heels. Going back to the Garrison meant lugging around guilt and shame down sterilized hallways. Going back meant having to drag his feet around in Shiro’s shoes. The program was still mourning the loss of their star student. Sam shared that a lecture hall was renamed in his honor. The thought of it was nauseating. 

He tapped a spoon on the side of the pan, turning off the stove. This weekend he wasn’t planning on thinking about anything but food and video games. Collectively, the Bougie Bitches decided to host a weekend slumber party as a way to de-stress. Hunk and Pidge recently finished their midterms and were on fall break from the Garrison. Lance had taken up extra shifts at the shop and wasn’t as available as he was used to. Keith… well, every day felt like a slap in the face. 

When Hunk and Lance arrived, they were already in their pajamas. Pidge squealed upon seeing Hunk in Pikachu pants. Lance spun around to show off the rip in his glow in the dark SpongeBob pajama bottoms making a lewd joke about how Keith wouldn’t have to worry about getting his pants off that night. Keith threw a couch cushion at his ass from across the living room. 

Keith and Pidge sported Batman and Superman pajama bottoms, respectively. 

While Hunk and Pidge organized the food in the kitchen, Keith finished setting up the blanket nest. He felt Lance flop down next to him. 

“Oh my God. This is fantastic,” Lance exclaimed, letting out a loud moan as he stretched out in a Jesus pose. “We’re definitely fooling around on this thing.”

“Like hell you are,” Pidge yelled, her head stuffed in the refrigerator making space for Hunk’s giant bowl of eggless cookie dough. “The blanket nest will not be defiled!”

Keith settled down next to Lance, poking him in the chest. Some of his antics were rubbing off. “Hey, you.”

He allowed Lance to pull him close, placing a kiss on the top of his head and murmuring his name. He could tell Lance was exhausted. His behavior was muted more so than usual. 

Keith placed a kiss underneath his earlobe hoping to engage the singer. 

“You’ve been distant…” Lance whispered, his eyes were closed. 

“How do you mean?” Keith questioned, nuzzling into his neck. He grabbed a large cheetah print blanket and threw it over them for privacy.

He sighed, rubbing his knuckles down Keith’s spine. “We just haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“We were literally at Waffle House the other day.” Keith deadpanned, noticing hands drifting lower on his back. 

“I know, but that was the four of us. Wish we could spend more time, you know,” He gestured between the two of them. “Just us.” 

Keith sensed the man was feeling a bit vulnerable, perhaps they were broaching territory that could potentially ruin the slumber party. It wasn’t an adequate time or place to discuss their relationship dynamics. 

He knew the conversation was long overdue. They met a month ago, and most of it was flirting through text, late-night Waffle House visits, and the occasional solo date. He knew Lance wanted more, and it dawned on him mid-panic why he felt restrained from moving forward. He gritted his teeth thinking of his conversation with Pidge the week prior. 

He hated when she was right. 

Lance picked up on his hesitation and sat up. “So, whenever you wanna talk about that…”

Before Keith could respond, he felt Pidge’s foot nudge him on his back. He rolled over to see her holding two plates of pizza. 

“We got stuffed crust, no sauce, extra cheese for Keith,” Pidge handed the plate over before turning to Lance. “And, Lord have mercy on us, extra pineapples for this heathen.”

“Unclench, you gremlin.” Lance bit back, snatching the plate from her hands. Pidge smacked him upside the head. Keith swallowed a laugh reaching over to grab the bottle of ranch Pidge dropped near him.

“Lance, I don’t think anyone is siding with you,” Hunk declared, making his way to the blanket nest with two more plates. “Gordon Ramsey set the record straight on pizza topping etiquette. You’re on the wrong side.”

Lance flicked them all off before licking straight down the middle of his pizza slice making Pidge to gag. 

“So,” Pidge started, munching loudly on her food. “Do we want to talk about the fact that Lance is wearing a t-shirt with the Tide logo on it, or do we just want to collectively laugh?”

“Listen,” Lance started, quickly growing agitated. “This shit is vintage Walmart, okay? Respect it. Besides, pastel yellow complements my beautiful brown skin. You wouldn’t know though, you’re… pasty.” 

Keith and Hunk quietly watched as the other two exchanged glares and continued their bickering. 

Hunk cleared his throat, “So, Keith. I couldn’t help but notice your car is falling apart. What’s the deal?”

Keith’s jaw rolled slowly as his chewing came to a halt. “It’s hanging in there. She’s just old.”

Hunk nodded sucking the grease off his thumb. They both momentarily paused as they watched things escalate between Lance and Pidge. 

“You wanna fight, punk?!” 

“Bring it on, _gringa_!”

Keith cringed, more for Lance’s sake as Pidge launched herself at the taller man. She began training with him over the summer for her hand-to-hand combat class. She had grown so much and he couldn’t help but smile at her dedication. 

Hunk looked like he wanted to say more, but winced at the noises coming from the other two. Lance held Pidge in a headlock yelling at her to give up. Pidge struggled within his hold before biting his arm. 

“PIDGE, WHAT THE HELL?!” 

“Okay, guys,” Hunk interrupted, grabbing Pidge by the leg and dragging her back to his side of the blanket. “Where’d you learn to fight so dirty?”

Pidge wiped at her mouth, cracking a smile. “Picked up a few moves from my brother.”

Keith pressed his lips together when she winked at him. Hunk looked between the two of them. “Wait… you two are siblings?” Hunk asked, dropping his pizza on the paper plate. 

Lance sat quietly with his mouth hanging open in shock. His shirt was completely twisted around his body. “There’s no fuckin’ way.”

Pidge pulled her shirt up to rub her face before she spoke. “Keith is my brother.”

Keith took a sip from his Vanilla Coke, “I’m adopted.”

“Holy shit…” Lance muttered under his breath. “To be honest, I thought y’all were low-key doing it on the side.”

Keith shoved him hard. Lance laughed it off and pulled him close, placing a sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

Pidge rolled her eyes, grabbing her 3DS and leaning back next to Hunk. 

The four of them lounged for several hours, playing Pokemon and talking about their lives. Hunk shared he was an only child and grew up in Altean Hills. He was in his first year at the Garrison despite being older than Pidge. He took time off after high school to pursue his interests in culinary arts. 

Keith was slightly envious of the wonderful things he shared about his family. Hunk described how supportive everyone was of him taking time to explore a passion of his before starting school. Keith always wanted to explore his artistic side. He enjoyed photography and painting, yet the Holts were career-oriented. Sam would have a heart attack if he told him he wanted to go to art school instead of finishing his final semester at the Garrison.

Lance talked extensively about his family and how he was the youngest of six siblings. He admitted to having it slightly easier than his older siblings and sharing a strong connection with his parents. He was the only child in the household for three years as the rest of his siblings were significantly older than him. He grew up on a farm and his parents owned a restaurant called Casita Lucia named after his mother. Keith noticed the shift in his tone as he talked about his daughter. He described with pride and joy how smart and caring Luna was.

Pidge shared what it was like to grow up with two brothers and her obsession with space. She talked extensively about her crystals and showed the guys part of her collection in the dining room space. Lance teased her about UFOs and crop circles and how it made sense she wanted to phone home. Hunk intervened before another fight broke out. Hunk referred to them as his newfound family, scooping Pidge up into a bear hug. Keith was flabbergasted by the man’s sheer strength. He wouldn’t want to get caught on the receiving end of a punch from Hunk. 

“So, Keith. What about you? Any family stories?” Hunk asked, poking at Lance’s calf. 

“Yeah, was Pidge a mini gremlin growing up?” Lance followed up, licking his teeth when Pidge sent a menacing glare his way.

Keith bounced his knees back and forth. His head was propped up on Lance’s side. He was enjoying how Lance ran his fingers through his hair. 

“She was more like a Furby.”

Pidge’s head shot up and Keith immediately covered his face with his arm. With cat-like reflexes, Lance swatted the incoming soda can out of the air. 

“Well, Keith had a huge gap in his teeth.”

“Pidge had a bowl haircut up until high school.”

“Keith cried when My Chemical Romance broke up.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, “Oh, it’s really on now.”

He sat up and pointed an accusatory finger in her direction, “Pidge writes fanfiction for the Garrison Anime Club!”

Pidge gasped and crawled onto her knees, “How the fuck do you know about that?!”

Hunk rubbed his chin. “The Garrison has an Anime Club?”

Lance cackled, curling his body around Keith, “This is the greatest day.”

“Pidge steals Matt’s porn!” Keith yelled. For some reason, this had energized him to a point where he wasn’t thinking straight. 

“I'm curious about the human body, and we’re both guilty of that!” Pidge shouted, flailing her arms. “How about you, Keith? You’re the one who made out with the captain of the soccer team in the middle of the soccer field!”

Hunk gasped loudly pointing at Keith, “Dude, you were one of the _FIFA Lovers_?! We heard that rumor all the way at my school!” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the phone,” Lance interrupted, sitting up. “You’re one of the guys from East Leon who fooled around on the soccer field after the State Championships?”

Keith rolled his eyes, accepting they weren’t going to let it go. “We didn't even have sex. It was awkward as fuck, but yes, I did questionable things with a jock.” 

Pidge smirked, “Not just _any_ jock…”

Keith watched as Lance clapped his hands together in a prayer motion. 

“You... and... _the_ Jason Scott.”

“Uh oh, Keith. I think you broke Lance.” Hunk joked as Lance groaned. “He has the biggest crush on Jason.”

“I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of this. He wasn’t that great anyway.” Keith dismissed, waving his hand. He reached over grabbing the bowl of chicken dip. 

Lance let out a nervous laugh, “He… He wasn’t… Oh, my _God_. I can’t believe you would even say that! Do you even know who he is?!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I was the one with my tongue down his throat,” Keith reiterated, scooping up some dip with a tortilla chip.

Lance dropped his head in defeat. 

Hunk suddenly perked up. “Ooh! Let’s play one of those games where someone asks a question and everyone has to answer.”

“Let’s do it!” Lance said enthusiastically. His attention span was almost nonexistent. He threw himself back down onto the blankets and propped a leg up on the coffee table. 

“What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?” Pidge blurted out before Lance could ask his question. He glared daggers in her direction, she stuck her tongue out at him. 

“The fact that people know about the soccer field incident,” Keith answered right off the bat. 

“Um, I don’t know about y’all, but I feel like that’s cheating.” Hunk stated, he turned to Pidge. “Judge?”

Pidge hummed, contemplating it momentarily. “We’ll let it slide… even though I know some others.”

Lance rubbed his lips together, setting his beer down. 

“Okay… I was out with this guy about a year ago… We had some bad Taco Bell and I tried to be sly by farting outside of the car before getting in, but it followed me…” Lance paused to cover his face with his hands before bursting into laughter. “The worst part was that we sat in silence the whole ride home like the smell wasn’t threatening to suffocate us.”

Keith snorted, almost choking on a tortilla chip. 

Pidge threw her head back, the sound of her cackle filled the room. 

They filtered through many questions revealing Hunk was still dating his high school girlfriend, Shay, Lance worshipped Leonardo DiCaprio, Pidge recently visited a palm reader, and Keith attended a yoga class. They eventually decided to narrow down the questions to simple preferences. 

“Backstreet Boys or NSYNC?” Lance asked, letting out a loud belch. Keith wrinkled his nose as he felt his stomach deflate. 

“Backstreet Boys.” 

“That's a hard one,” Hunk said. “I do like NSYNC.”

“Mariah Carey or Jennifer Lopez?”

“J-Lo? Who is she?”

“Ooh, guys. I got the best one,” Hunk said, grinning mischievously. “Waffle House or IHOP?”

Hunk, Keith, and Pidge unanimously answered with IHOP. Pidge snickered at the look of betrayal on Lance’s face. 

“Guys… are you serious? Y’all don’t like going to the House?” His tone sounded genuinely hurt, and Keith contemplated a reality where he could fold into himself and disappear. 

Hunk frowned, propping himself up on his side. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Lance. Just wish we could switch it up sometime, you know?”

“Wow, okay. You know, I was kinda getting a weird vibe from y’all with all the shit-talking earlier, but this takes the cake.”

“Lance, c’mon. That’s not it at all, and we were just messing with you.” Hunk explained, sitting up as Lance got up on his feet. 

“Where are you going?” Pidge asked. “We wouldn’t even be having this party if it wasn’t for you.”

“Yeah, whatever. Gonna take a walk.” 

Keith noticed Lance grab his Garrison hoodie from the back of the couch and flinched when the door slammed behind him. Pidge and Hunk both turned to look at him.

“What?” He asked, taking the last sip from his Vanilla Coke. 

“Well, aren’t you going to go after him?” Pidge asked, crossing her arms. 

Keith shrugged, picking at the crumbs underneath his fingernails. “Sounds like he may want to be alone.”

Hunk narrowed his eyes. “Trust me, that’s the last thing he wants. You should go talk to him.”

“You were the one— I’m not good at—" He stammered.

Hunk mirrored Pidge’s stern position causing him to stop in his tracks. 

Keith huffed and stood up. “Fine. Can’t say I didn’t warn y’all.”

It was nearing the end of September and the air was only a few degrees cooler. Leon had two seasons: Summer and winter. Keith walked outside and looked over the railing of his third-floor apartment building. He spotted Lance walking up the hill near the dog park. 

When he caught up to him, Keith lightly bumped his shoulder into him. Lance didn’t respond and continued walking. 

“Hey, you okay?” Keith asked quietly, keeping up with his pace. 

Lance shrugged, his hands stuffed into the hoodie’s pocket. It was hard to keep a straight face when his pants were glowing.

“That Garrison hoodie looks good on you.” 

It was his attempt at complimenting the man, but then he remembered Lance was a Volt fan. He shared with Keith once that he had been set to attend the school on a full athletic scholarship, but “life got in the way.”

Lance side-eyed him. If a compliment didn’t work, he didn’t know what else to do. Lance was easily flattered. His disappointment was on full display. 

“Did Hunk send you?” Lance asked in a tone bitter. They approached a small wooden bench. Lance kicked a leg over, straddling the bench, Keith followed. 

Lance lowered the hood from his head to face Keith. The orange hue coming from the street lamp cast harsh shadows on his face. Keith sighed unsure of what to say. He struggled immensely when it came to comforting people in socially acceptable ways. He was used to bandaging up other kids, telling them to “walk it off,” or just staring at them until they stopped moping. He figured none of those would soothe Lance. 

Lance shook his head in disappointment at his lack of response and looked off at the bushes next to them. They sat in silence for a while, and Keith momentarily contemplated going back to the apartment. 

“They took me in when I felt like I had nothing else, okay? They’re like my second family.” Lance said in a quiet, defeated tone. “I like being there…”

Keith scratched at his temple and scooted closer to him, their knees slightly touched. 

“You’re the only reason I even go…” He whispered, not gauging the impact of his words. He twirled one of the drawstrings on the hoodie around his finger. When he didn’t immediately hear a response from Lance he cautiously lifted his gaze to see Lance looking straight at him. It was dark, but the light from the street lamp allowed him to see how Lance’s eyes glazed over. 

Keith felt Lance pull him by his sweater, resting his chin on his shoulder. Keith sighed, slowly relaxing into the embrace. He wanted to be present. He wanted to be a source a comfort, but doubt whispered a never-ending list of questions into his ear he didn’t have the answers to. Was this enough? What would be enough? 

They sat together in silence, holding each other. He always judged himself for his lack of words. It was a societal expectation he could never adhere to. His brain wasn’t wired to function that way. His therapist had shared that silence could be healing. It allowed room for a deep breath. It could be the difference between communication and a full-on screaming match. He couldn’t find balance. He was always stuck on one extreme. His extreme was dead silence.

Somewhere along the line, Keith realized he needed the embrace just as much as Lance did. He craved the physical contact, knowing that it was coming from a place of understanding and care. It felt as though they were leaning on each other, supporting one another to stay upright. He ran his fingers through soft, brown hair. The pads of his fingertips lightly grazed against the nape of the taller man’s neck. 

He felt Lance sigh, giving him a squeeze before pulling away. “Thank you. Never thought I'd be able to feel better without yappin’ on and on.”

Keith chuckled, “If it makes you feel any better, I should probably yap a little more.”

“We’re quite the team…”

Keith stretched the sleeve of his oversized sweater and lightly dabbed at the corner of Lance’s eye. His sweater shifted, exposing a sharp collarbone as he leaned forward. 

Lance reached up to straighten it out. “You know it’s bad juju to keep your ex’s stuff…”

Keith arched his neck, before directing his gaze across the street. 

He could feel Lance’s eyes on him. He knew their moment together went beyond tending to Lance’s ego. There was an emotional distance between them, and Keith had a feeling it was up to him to close the gap. Lance was already there. He wanted to catch up but was unclear which road to take. 

Lance’s expression was soft, showing a bit of concern. Perhaps he was regretting what he said. Keith wasn’t going to hold a grudge. He was right. It wasn’t that he couldn’t let Shiro go, it was that he didn’t want to. He was frustrated. Their love was carelessly ripped away from him. 

With Lance, everything felt strangely normal. His walls were standing tall and intact, sporting a fresh coat of paint. Sometimes it felt safe to push a ladder up to peer over. His presence was refreshing like the brief moments of clarity before sunrise. The ones where the air felt oddly stagnant. The perfect amount of dryness and moisture. 

Those mornings were rare, and perhaps his fixation with Lance’s immaturity was him jumping the gun or part of his natural inclination to cherrypick flaws. Perhaps what he viewed as immaturity was actually a bright youthfulness he no longer recognized in himself. How could he though? He never had a real childhood. Play was a luxury. Either way, Lance offered fresh perspectives that nourished his own. He wasn’t there to change him. He sure as hell wasn’t there to save him, but… 

Balance. That damn word was going to be the death of him.

They held each other’s stare for a bit before he spoke. 

“His name was Shiro…” 

Something inside of him dislodged. Light trickled in, but it wasn’t without pain. The tightrope he walked wobbled underneath his unsteady feet. He didn’t trust anyone to catch him if he fell. 

“Was.” Lance reflected, reaching for his hands. 

Lance closed his eyes, taking a brief moment to process before pulling him back into an embrace. He didn’t say a word and Keith was thankful for that because he didn’t have anything else to offer. He let himself sink into his chest and closed his eyes. Lance kissed the side of his forehead, and all he wanted was to fall asleep in his arms. 

“I’m sorry I can’t love Waffle House as much as you…” He mumbled into Lance’s shoulder. 

“I’ll survive,” Lance replied, caressing the back of his head. 

Keith craned his neck back to face Lance. They naturally gravitated into each other’s space, and it felt… right. He tilted his head, parting his lips to kiss the other man. 

With linked arms, they walked back to the apartment. Pidge had fallen asleep next to Hunk who gave them an apologetic look as they headed to Keith’s room. They both threw off their sweaters as they crawled into bed.

Keith shivered when Lance pressed his cold nose to the back of his neck, breathing in deeply. He held onto the tatted arm wrapped around his torso and shifted his legs as Lance settled in behind him. 

“For the record, I’m glad we didn’t sleep together.” Lance murmured into his neck. 

Keith ran his fingers down his forearm. “Me too…”

“I really do like you.”

“I believe you.”

“We should probably talk about…” A yawn interrupted his sentence. 

Keith hummed in agreement. His eyes blinked heavily as Lance mumbled something incoherent. 

He was comfortable. He felt safe. For a split second, he visualized himself in a relationship outside of the fairytale he once had. It didn’t feel scary, but he could argue the sleep overriding his system was lessening anxiety’s full effect. He didn’t fall asleep until Lance’s breathing evened out. He dreamt of space and a blue lion.

~***~

The day finally caught up with him. Keith stood outside of Pidge’s Jeep glaring at the door handle. His therapist stood behind him, encouraging him. Pidge was sitting in the driver’s seat looking at her phone trying not to focus on Keith.

His sweaty hand gripped the door handle. 

“You’ve done this part before…” His therapist gently reminded him. He slowly blinked, trying not to lash out at her. 

Over the last year, they had been working on slowly desensitizing him to his fear of being a passenger in a vehicle. To say the immense phobia was debilitating would be a massive understatement. He didn’t want to think of all the times he fought EMS workers while they struggled to get him into an ambulance. During the earlier stages of his recovery, that was the only way he could make it to the hospital for his appointments. He refused to get in the car with his parents. Eventually, his doctors and therapist signed off on his “stability” and ability to drive his own car again. 

The process was dreadful with no end in sight. It started with looking at pictures of different cars. Baby steps. They finally got to a place where he could sit in the passenger seat, but he was stuck there for a while. In the recent months, he sat next to Pidge as they drove around the parking lot. Today was the day they were driving into town, and it felt as though the year he spent building the courage to get to this point was all a waste of time. He couldn’t do it. It was too much. 

He stood there trembling in his black Converse shoes. He’d rather re-experience severe food poisoning than get in the vehicle. 

He stepped back running his fingers through his hair. The sound of the running engine was taunting. He turned to look at his therapist, intent on quitting. 

“Keith, I know you can do this. You were able to sit in Shiro’s car all on your own.”

“That’s the thing,” Keith said, throwing his hands up into the air. He was pacing. “I was by myself. Why do I have to be the passenger when I have a car… technically _two_ cars that I can drive on my own?”

“We’ve talked about the reasons before. Hand back on the door handle.”

He groaned kicking at one of the tires. 

“Hey!” Pidge yelled as she rolled down the passenger window. “Don’t take it out on Ivy.”

He gave her an apologetic look as she rolled the window back up to give him privacy. He closed his eyes and reached for the handle. 

The Black Lion purred in the back of his mind. 

_Patience…_

His breathing picked up. A tail slowly moved from side to side. The fog wasn’t as dense. 

“Patience… yields…” He whispered. His grip tightened. Why couldn’t he remember? 

“What?”

He waved his arm at his therapist, shutting her up. Everything went quiet in his mind for a split second as he searched for the missing word. He could hear a soft giggle and the pitter patter of feet on hardwood floors. The rattling of a screen door. The soft whispers of a name. 

A name. 

The smell of oil burned at his nose. There were stains on a flannel shirt thrown in the corner of a large workspace. The orange hue of sparks flying in the background lit up the darkened room. 

He opened his eyes back up, looking straight at Pidge. 

“Focus…” He said, his breath shaky from the resurfaced memory. He looked over his shoulder at his therapist who maintained a neutral face. 

“Is it possible that I may have forgotten things about him?” Keith asked, fear evident in his eyes. 

“Keith…”

“Is it possible?!”

“Trauma can affect memory.”

Keith shook his head. There was no way he could forget Shiro. There was no way he could forget what they had. Like the crystals in his room, their time together was delicate and precious.

“…No, please…”

“I know it’s hard. Your body must be screaming at you right now, but instead of running away from the Black Lion, I want you to sit with it. You’ve trained yourself to resist these feelings. Try to be still with them. The Black Lion is a part of you, Keith.”

His breathing picked up. He could hear Shiro’s voice echoing through. He looked back at the door. He knew what he had to do.

_Patience yields focus. Remember that, Keith._

_Easier said than done, sir._

He opened the car door, and like a ripple effect tumbling across the barren landscape of his mind, two more doors open. The screen door. The metal Garrison door. 

They stood together holding each other's hands. Promises carried away with the wind. 

His legs felt like jelly as he attempted to climb in. His back stiffened and his joints felt weak. Sounds were muffled as he looked around inside the vehicle. His body begged him to hyperventilate. 

“How the fuck do I sit still with this?!” He yelled at the ceiling as if the words could burn a hole through it and reach the heavens. 

He was a child, sitting in the back of a white van being carted off to his next foster home. The thought was asphyxiating. He felt cramped. He couldn’t move. He was an adult, sitting in the passenger seat of a ’69 Mustang covered in blood with glass shards embedded into his skin. Adrenaline pummeled through his veins eroding the walls leaving him numb. Numb to the bone protruding from Shiro’s arm. Numb to the fact that firefighters had to cut them out of the car. 

“Use your skills. Take a moment and remember what we’ve practiced.”

He took a few deep breaths, trying to settle his heart rate. It wasn’t working.

“Pidge. Pidge, talk to me.”

“O-okay. We are in the car. I am putting my foot down on the break—.”

“Anything but the car!”

“Okay, okay! Uh… Lance! Yes, Lance. I was thinking maybe we could do something for him. You know, to make up for the fact that we made him cry.”

“I was thinking of doing something…” Keith responded, gripping onto the handle above him as she backed out of the parking spot. This was it. “H-holy shit… Pidge…”

“You can do this Keith, and I was thinking maybe we don’t involve Waffle House.” She said, throwing the car in drive. 

Keith gulped trying not to think of the bile sloshing around inside of him. He looked at her hands gripping the steering wheel. “I kinda wanted to take some garlic knots to his job. He’s been working a lot.”

Pidge turned her head, giving him a smile. “Lorenzo’s it is, then! That’s sweet, Keith.” Before moving forward she stopped to wave at his therapist who stood there with a grin on her face. Keith nodded his head in her direction and held his breath as they started moving.

~***~

“Santi! El amiguito tuyo esta aquí!” The receptionist yelled from the door connecting to the garage. She gestured her fingers in a circular motion to direct Keith to the garage entrance outside.

“Did you just roll up in someone else’s car?!” Lance shouted over loud bachata music as he walked out of the shop, eyeing Pidge’s Jeep. He wore grey coveralls and slapped his hands together, throwing his gloves aside. Keith flinched at the whirring sound of drills and the red-hot burst of sparks flying in the background. 

Keith walked toward him with a white box full of Lorenzo’s finest. Lance’s grin was wider than a child’s on Christmas day. 

“Is it bad that I found you hotter as a feminist?” Lance joked, winking at him.

“Brought you a little something,” Keith said, he couldn’t resist mirroring the smile. “Santi?”

Lance reached for the box and set it down on an overturned crate reminding him of his middle name. “It’s better than Lancito,” He groaned rolling his eyes at the diminutive nickname. His cheeks tinted a slight pink as he scratched his temple. “I’m a grown-ass man, dammit.” 

He pouted. For some reason, Keith assumed Lance didn’t know what embarrassment was. He was so unapologetically… Lance? It was hard for him to wrap his mind around the fact that the man blushing in front of him was the also the man who openly referred to himself as “Lancey-Lance.” 

Lance reached for his hand guiding them around the building, out of sight. He sat on an old tire and Keith didn’t hesitate to straddle him. He was feeling the ruggedness. This was his comfort zone. The amalgamation of gasoline and spray paint coming from his coveralls was intoxicating. 

Keith loved it. 

“Sorry, I’m gross.” Lance apologized, running his thumb across his bottom lip. 

“I like it.”

“Really? Mechanics do it for you?” Lance asked, biting his lip. Keith nodded against his forehead. “Duly noted.”

Keith looped an arm around his shoulders and deepened their kiss. His nerves were still on high alert from the drive, but he used their close proximity as an anchor. Galaxies spun rapidly behind closed lids. He wanted to say he was in control, but perhaps Pidge was right. Risks were mathematically sound concepts.

His whole life he had been Batman. Taking matters into his own hands was all he knew. A survival instinct ingrained in his DNA. A survival instinct that perhaps was becoming outdated. One that no longer fit the relationships he was developing in adulthood. For a split second, Keith visualized a life where he could let go and be okay with the person he was in the moment. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

The words were like knives to his gut, but Keith shuffled through his therapeutic toolbox and “sat with them” as they pulled away from each other. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He didn’t want to think too much of it, but dammit, it would be nice to sit back and be Robin for a change.


	4. Mi Único Enemigo Es El Tiempo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a second there, I honestly thought I'd never finish this... but here it is. 
> 
> If y'all think Keith has issues... Oh, Lance lol he means well, y'all. 
> 
> Song by Ozuna ft. Anuel AA
> 
> Thoughts/feedback always appreciated! Enjoy :)

The smell of an early morning routine crept its way through the gap underneath the door, crawled across the crevices of wrinkled sheets, and circled under his nose. Coffee. Bacon. The sound of rain brought him to consciousness but his eyes remained closed. The ceiling fan cranked away above him. 

It was familiar and cozy only to be interrupted by the sound of _Take On Me_ coming from his phone. His alarm was going off. A lethargic hand reached over to the nightstand to stop the song creating a ruckus at the ass-crack of dawn. Lance opened one sleep ladened eye to see the bright screen reveal it was 6:18 as Keith retracted his arm. He must’ve been snoozing in his sleep. 

“How the hell do you sleep through that when it’s right in your face?” Keith complained as he shifted behind him. His morning voice raspier than usual. 

Lance rolled over sliding an arm up Keith’s shirt and swinging a leg over his torso. “I can tell you’ve never been to a Latino’s house on a Saturday morning,” He said with a sigh. “Trust me, I can sleep through anything.”

The distant sound of pots and pan reminded him of simpler times where his biggest worry was not waking up on time for school and getting left behind by his mother.

Keith hummed underneath him as he yawned, popped an ankle, and dug at the crust on the inside of his eye. “Why do you have sparkly shorts hanging from your dresser?”

Lance failed to stifle a yawn, enjoying the warmth radiating from Keith’s chest. “Every now and then I teach a pole fitness class at Luxia’s studio. She’s a close friend,” Lance answered nonchalantly. He swiftly changed his position to stretch his legs up against the wall behind his bed. Keith pushed himself to an upright position, leaning his head on Lance’s leg.

“Pole fitness?” Keith asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Lance looked at him adoringly. 

“Okay, so imagine a stripper pole,” Lance said as he reached up to touch his toes. He watched Keith narrow his eyes at him. He laughed and kissed the tip of his nose.

“…And?”

“And that’s it,” Lance playfully answered as he dropped back down and created an L-shape with his legs. His leg stretched into Keith’s space. He looked over to see Keith staring at him, perplexed. “What?”

“You’re just…”

Lance rolled back onto the balls of his feet and scooted over, sitting on Keith’s lap. He was beaming with energy. 

“Amazing? Perfect? Everything you could ever hope for?” Lance suggested with a wicked grin on his face. 

“I was thinking talented. Multi-faceted. I don’t know how you do it.” Keith shared out loud and shrugged. Lance couldn’t contain his excitement. He was on the receiving end of a rare Keith Compliment. 

“I am so honored to have received this award,” Lance announced dramatically with a Southern Belle accent. He swept a hand across his forehead. “I’d like to thank my mama and daddy for creating me.” 

He enjoyed the way Keith curled his lips to suppress a laugh. Somehow his small complaint at the Epic Weekend Slumber Party worked. Keith was spending more time with him and would stay over often. It was easier for Keith to get to his new job at a local pottery store from Lance’s apartment. 

His heart had roundhouse kicked his brain when he suggested they “talk” about their situation. Lance never wanted to be that person; he genuinely believed he couldn’t be that person. His fear of commitment was the most prominent patch on his jacket. It was difficult stomaching his reactions lately, but for some reason, their lack of exclusivity was like a horse pill clogging his throat. 

Lance wanted a little more room to grow with Keith. Hunk had laughed at the irony when he brought it up in conversation. They usually dedicated breakfast time for processing. 

Lance enjoyed Keith’s company. It was rare to find someone, that wasn’t Hunk, who shared his similar interests. They had spent an entire day in their underwear watching reruns of _Top Gear_ while eating mac and cheese with sliced up hotdogs. Keith laughed until tears spilled from his eyes when the cast was chased down by rednecks in Alabama. His laugh came from deep within his core and spread across his chest like dandelion florets in the wind. It was slowly becoming one of Lance’s favorite sounds. 

“So a little bird told me your birthday is coming up,” Lance said, planting soft kisses along Keith’s prickly jaw. The smell of mint was refreshing.

“I don’t have a birthday.”

Lance paused his ministrations to glare at him. He never understood Keith’s cryptic jokes. “Anyway, we should do something fun.”

He clapped both his hands on Keith’s shoulders before pushing himself off the mattress, not giving the other man a chance to respond. His back popped as he lifted his t-shirt over his head and flung it over a naked shoulder. The slap of fabric on his warm skin made him flinch. He’d recently started a new tattoo piece courtesy of Nyma’s on-and-off boyfriend, Rolo. He walked into his closet to grab a pair of black Nike running pants and a beat up pair of checkered Vans. 

When he walked back out, Keith was sitting on the edge of his bed gathering the bird’s nest he called hair into a ponytail. 

“So what are the chances of you getting a haircut for your birthday?”

He watched as the older man blinked slowly at him. Lance noticed the pattern in Keith’s response and he couldn’t help but wonder the words that would spill from his mouth if he wasn’t so good at censoring himself.

“You want to take my pride and joy away from me on my birthday?” Keith bluntly asked and folded his arms across his bare chest. One of Lance’s old high school t-shirts was draped over his thigh. 

It hadn’t taken long for them to start stealing each other’s clothes. Keith was still looking for his favorite _Return of the Jedi_ t-shirt. 

“Don’t think of it as taking away, more like freshening it up a bit,” Lance suggested, sniffing his armpit before walking out of the room to the bathroom. Keith quietly trailed him. The sounds of Hunk laboring away in the kitchen were indicators that breakfast would be banging. 

They both stood in front of the mirror in his cramped bathroom brushing their teeth like an old married couple. Lance bit back a laugh to keep from spewing toothpaste all over the mirror. He tried not to think of the blue toothbrush that sat in Keith’s bathroom.

Lance bent forward and spat into the sink. 

Labels didn’t make relationships as finite as he had hoped. The most precious one he ever had slipped right through his fingers, and it bore the grandest label of all time: Parents. 

His relationship with Keith was unique albeit slow-paced to the point where Lance could’ve sworn he combed through some grey hairs. Like a dryer sheet, Keith stomped on Lance’s static cling and kept everything at arm’s length. 

Lance had a feeling it had to do with Keith’s previous relationship. Keith only shared a name and the fact that the guy was dead. Other than that, Keith was a mystery box and Lance was left to search for the key. 

Their individual baggage was crowding their potential. Lance was an organizer despite what his mother and the rest of the world would have anyone believe. He wanted to make some room. While sensitive, Keith wasn’t fragile and Lance knew he’d soon have to stifle through many layers to get to know him better.

He was up for the challenge. 

“Can I take this off now?” Keith asked looking straight at his reflection and pointed at the overnight face mask making his face green. Lance cracked a smile and nodded as he proceeded to wash off his own mask. 

They both walked to the kitchen where Hunk was serving breakfast. Shay sat at the small table and waved politely as she poured orange juice into a glass. Their relationship was disgustingly cute, and Lance wasn’t ashamed to admit he was jealous of what they had. In Hunk’s defense, they had been dating for centuries. Lance was counting the days until Hunk asked him to be his best man. He was their number one fan. He was also rooting for Hunk to finally get laid. 

They were one of those couples. 

“What up, brochacho?” Lance greeted and gripped Hunk’s shoulders, pushing down to lift himself up a bit. 

Hunk laughed trying to shoo him away with a spatula, “Don’t want to see what you’re gonna be like after coffee.”

Lance stuck his tongue out and poured heaven’s brew into his “I Survived La Chancla” mug. He looked over his shoulder to see Shay chatting away at Keith and smiled. His current situation felt like a dream state. One moment he casually held hands with a beautiful man after one of his shows and the next he was watching the same man who was open about his social struggles sit through one of Shay’s political rants. 

They sat together and enjoyed their meal. Lance picked up on Keith’s stellar observational skills. What he lacked in words he made up in his presence. He was either highly aware or zoning out, but Lance tried not to push his boundaries too often. 

After breakfast, Hunk and Lance were left to clean up. Lance was elbows deep in the sink and aggressively scrubbed at a frying pan. He could feel Hunk wincing and silently begging him to take it easy on the pan. 

Lance squared his shoulders as he wiped away his bangs from his forehead. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Hunk responded, organizing the cups on a dry towel.

“What do you think of Keith?” Lance asked, reaching to shut the water off and peeled off the neon pink rubber gloves. 

Hunk threw his head back and sighed loudly, “Lance, I’ve told you this before. I think he’s a good guy.”

Lance frowned as he wiped the countertop with a disinfectant wipe. Their apartment was the cleanest man cave on the face of the planet. 

“Does the name Shiro mean anything to you?” 

Hunk paused and gave Lance a look that made him shrink back. “Shiro as in Shirogane? As in Takashi Shirogane? As in the greatest man to ever bless the Garrison? That’s the only Shiro I’m aware of.”

“Jesus…” Lance muttered and slammed an opened palm on the pristine, white countertop. “First Jason and now this guy?”

“Well, I didn’t know him personally. He died before I got into the Garrison. Everyone still talks about him though. Sounded like a good guy.” Hunk mused as he sprayed the kitchen with air freshener. 

“Do you think you can get some more info from Pidge?” Lance asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the sink. “She’s bound to know something.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that,” Hunk responded frankly, mirroring his position.

“Fine, I’ll ask her myself,” Lance snapped, ready to make his way out of the kitchen. Hunk was quick to grab onto his shoulder, stopping Lance in his tracks. It was symbolic of their friendship. Hunk was always there to triple check him. 

“Dude, no. That’s not her story to tell, and sure as hell isn’t one for you to pry out of anyone.” Hunk’s tone deepened, blatantly showing his distaste for Lance’s decision. 

“Well, what else can I do?” Lance asked, throwing his hands up as he shrugged his shoulders and marched into the living room to slip on his shoes. He threw on his oversized denim jacket and flopped down on the sofa, wiping his hands down his face. “It’s like pulling teeth…”

Hunk gave him the look. The sympathetic, “I get it” one that oozed genuineness.

“You need more from Keith. That’s totally fair,” Hunk reassured, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Lance craned his neck and groaned knowing full and well what to expect. “However, something tells me Keith won't appreciate you snooping around. Just be upfront with him. I’m sure one way or another you two can figure something out.”

Lance was left to stare at the ceiling after Hunk took off for class. He looked at his phone for the millionth time that morning and went through his Snapchat feed to see Nyma had been doing body shots off of sorority girls at a Volt party. He pouted, envy on full display. 

The last time he went out was the night of the Panic gig. After their late night dinner, Hunk and Lance went to an after party and got a little too friendly with tequila. Hunk passed out on a couch with questionable stains while Lance and Nyma did questionable things to one another on a shag rug behind the couch. 

He childishly snickered at the hazy memory. He sighed and crossed his arms behind his head. When did dating become complicated? He couldn’t wrap his head around what he had with Keith or what Keith wanted.

For some reason being around Keith was bringing out some of his worst qualities. Keith didn’t have extreme expectations. Granted, Lance wasn’t sure if the man had any to begin with, which left him feeling frazzled like an overly-loved snow globe. 

It wasn’t like he had anything to prove, however, it oddly felt as though he was reliving his childhood. Being the youngest meant having a slew of siblings to trail after. He had to fight his way to be seen, and lucky for him he had no qualms being the center of attention. He was an extrovert at heart fueled by the energy of those surrounding his life. Lance had a solid social life and was proud of what he rebuilt after things fell apart with Allura. 

He was reaching a point where he could say he was standing on firm ground. His parents weren’t too happy that he was playing gigs and spending money on his car, but those were important goals. Lance wasn’t following the path his family wanted for him. The one paved with the sweat and tears of completing an undergraduate degree. The path he walked was cracked and covered in graffiti, but it was his. That sense of ownership made up for all the times he doubted what he was doing. 

Despite his efforts to make the most out of his experiences, Lance felt there was still something missing. It was like those hipster Volt undergrads that kept stealing breaks from the walkways to keep as mementos of their drunken time in college. It was easier to fill them with Lego pieces than to find replacements. 

Temporary placeholders. 

He dropped into a bright red Bride seat Hunk helped install the previous weekend and turned the key in the ignition. He closed his eyes and sang along to the song coming from his radio.

_Como una cicatriz que nunca borra  
Baby, tú dejaste tu marca en mí_

Fingers ghosted over the NASA patch Allura messily embroidered and sewed on during one of her artsy phases. A sense of hypocrisy washed over his skin leaving him with gooseflesh. 

Lance sighed as he shifted gears, smiling at the sound of the tires screeching as he bolted to work. He wasn’t one to dwell. He trusted he’d figure things out in due time.

~***~

“Santi!”

The sound of his nickname pulled him out of his thoughts as he silently stared at the car in his bay. He shook his head giving his uncle, Raphael, his full attention. 

“We’ve got a busy day, so ponte las pilas and get this thing out of diagnostics,” He directed, waving a clipboard in his direction. 

Lance nodded, “Got it.”

He adjusted his headphones and rapidly clicked his flashlight on and off. His focus was shot. He’d blame it on Mercury if he could. There was a lot riding on him at the shop ever since he received his certification. He was officially part of the team and no longer in his apprenticeship. No longer a shadow. 

After completing his two-year program, he continued his apprenticeship with his uncle. Lance grew up in the shop and there was sentimental value woven into the complicated fabric of family business. He remembered sitting in old tractor tires while his older brother, Anthony, rolled him down the street. He could still hear his uncle yelling and chasing after them.

Growing up, Lance was never allowed to fear responsibility. He had been working since he could walk. Before his father could afford help on the farm, Lance and his siblings were the ones picking vegetables and milking the cows. Eventually, he bussed tables and washed dishes at his father’s restaurant. He swept hair off the floor of their garage when his mother’s cosmetology work had first taken off. 

Always the rookie. The look didn’t bode well for someone who wanted to be a star.

That dry, mechanical lifestyle never fit into his schema of being human. On the hierarchy of needs, his family had set up camp in the basics. He didn’t blame them, it was how they understood life. Survival was prioritized, and everything they had was because someone dragged themselves through hell to achieve and maintain it. 

His grandmother immigrated from Cuba escaping hunger and persecution. Her family ostracized her when she married a marine and gave birth to his father somewhere in Florida. There was a whole side of his family he had no connection with, but his father was hellbent on keeping the Cuban culture alive and well in their traditions. 

His parents met at a young age. They had their first child, his older brother, Daniel early on. Natalia was next, followed by the twins, Elena and Sandy, then Anthony. Lance’s arrival came a whopping fifteen years after Daniel. A genuine surprise. His mother wasn’t expecting to have any more children after Anthony. The doctors had given her the mid-thirties warning. 

_Dios tenía otros planes…_

His mother referred to him as her milagrito. 

High hopes and expectations dangled in front of him from birth. His siblings were successful in their own right, so naturally, he was to follow in their footsteps. Instead, he fell victim to the same pattern they desperately tried protecting him from. How he wished he could pull a frivolous excuse from thin air to explain why he rejected his full-ride athletic scholarship to Volt. He couldn’t.

Then there was Luna.

The daughter he was only allowed to see in the summers and sometimes during the holidays if Allura’s father was feeling generous that year. The daughter who was about to turn four and he wasn’t sure if he’d get to celebrate with her. The daughter he loved and missed with every ounce of his being.

He huffed as he concluded his diagnostic regimen. Part of the reason he hated being quiet was that he couldn’t sit with his thoughts for too long. He clicked his flashlight and waved down Raymond, the shop manager, to come and listen to his report. 

Lance explained that the customer reported strange noises from the hood. He evaluated the tires and found worn out brake pads and rusted rotors. 

“The ABS and traction control lights were on. Scan codes suggested wheel bearing replacement,” Lance said, running his foot across the concrete. He paused as Raymond inspected the tires. “I’d recommend replacing all of them, but mainly the front two.”

Raymond finished checking the back, humming to the Hector Lavoe song playing in the background. Lance had to admit it was tacky that his uncle had Christmas music playing, but his family was full of pseudo-religious people who hated Halloween and didn’t care for Thanksgiving. This allowed the Christmas spirit to flow as early as October. 

His uncle loved old school salsa, and the nostalgia brought forth by the song smelled of arroz con pernil, pasteles, and coquito. Lance tapped his fingers on the back of his hand to the beat waiting for Raymond’s verdict. 

The man came back around, scribbled something on his clipboard, and passed it to Lance. “Looks like you got your work cut out for you, Santi. These bolts look rusty as fuck, so holler if you need help getting them off.”

Lance’s eyes bugged out. “I was right?”

Raymond laughed smacking him on the back. “It was an easy one, but still. Ten fe en ti mismo, brother.”

Lance grinned and he shimmied his shoulders in the other man’s direction. 

“I’m not gonna dance with you.”

“Why not?! This is exciting!” Lance shouted as he broke out into a salsa dance tapping his pencil on his clipboard to the rhythm of the tambor. 

The rest of his day went fairly smooth. Lance lounged back on an old tire behind the shop and ate the food his father had sent along with his uncle. He casually scrolled through the endless list of unread messages, before he settled on a message from Coran. 

Coran worked for Allura’s family. The Juniberry family assistant. A glorified nanny.

 **Coran Smythe:** Dearest Lance, I wanted to inform you that we will be having a small birthday gathering for Luna tomorrow at the Balmera Country Club around noon. Alfor wants to remind you that you are not to interact with Allura during the event. No gifts, please.

Lance licked his teeth to curb a scream. He despised how her father still knew how to get under his skin, but Lance had to admit he was surprised Alfor was allowing them to be in close proximity. He hadn’t seen Allura in person since she gave birth. He didn’t want to be reminded of the hell he went through to witness his daughter being born.

 **Lance McClain:** I’ll be there. I’m assuming the dress code includes boat shoes and pastel Chinos. 

**Lance McClain:** Can’t forget my cardi and whale print belt. 

**Lance McClain:** Who the hell hosts a birthday party for a kid with no gifts?! Oh, wait. SATAN DOES.

Lance huffed, taking a screenshot of the messages to send to Hunk who messaged him fifteen times about an explosion in his chemistry lab. There were photos of him and Pidge wearing goggles covered in black soot. 

**Coran Smythe:** Nautical theme! Colors are red, white, and blue. Khaki is allowed. Don’t be late! 

How patriotic of them. Lance swallowed the urge to vomit and texted Nyma to see if she could squeeze him into her schedule for a haircut. He closed up his lunch box as he groaned. No better way to lose his appetite than to think about an event involving the Juniberry family. Mood officially soured, he stomped back to the shop to finish some paperwork and headed out for the afternoon. 

When he reached his mother’s salon, Nyma jumped up to greet him. She latched onto his arm and led him to her chair. “Dude, I am so glad you’re here. I always worry your mama hates me and today’s been pretty slow so I need something to do.” She greeted through clenched teeth.

Lance grinned, handing her his jacket, hat, and wallet before flopping into the chair. “She doesn’t hate you, girl. You bring in the youths. She loves you.”

Nyma mumbled an incoherent ‘thanks’ while she finished organizing her materials on a stainless steel tray. The atmosphere was a complete 180 from his uncle’s shop. His mother was less traditional when it came to decor and her salon sported a chic, modern look. Exposed brick and pipes gave the place an urban vibe. Lance enjoyed visiting his mother at work. Her energy livened the place and was present the second the door opened. 

As if on cue, a gasp came from the back corner of the salon. “Papito! Pero por qué no me dijiste que ibas a venir?!”

Lance curled his lips together as Nyma sprayed his hair with water. He watched his mother scurry over. “Hey, bendición. Sorry I didn’t text you. I was in a rush.”

“Dios te bendiga,” She responded, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Por qué no quieres que yo te corte el pelo?” She asked crossing her arms. She’d never let go of the fact that he didn’t want her cutting his hair anymore. The woman could hold a grudge and her memory never failed her. “Qué? No soy ‘cool enough’?” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. A torpedo, always ready for launch. “Ma, chill. Nyma just knows what I like.”

“Mira para allá como son las cosas,” Lucia replied, shaking her head. He couldn’t tell if she was genuinely angry or joking so he kept his mouth shut while she continued ranting. “Es mi hijo pero ahora la gringuita lo conoce mejor.”

Nyma and Lance both remained still while Lucia stared at them before she burst into laughter and slapped her hand on his knee. “Ay, Dios mio! Las caras que tienen. Se parecen a Casper! Como ustedes dicen ‘I just messing with you’!” 

Nyma turned Lance around in the chair as his mother walked away, the color drained from her face. “My ass is sweating!” 

“I thought she was seriously pissed for a hot minute,” Lance said as Nyma ran a comb through his hair. If anyone ever wondered where he got his dramatics from, they didn’t have to look too far. His mother danced her way back to her station and proceeded to throw her hands up when a Yandel song came on. It was hilarious seeing his mom dancing to reggaeton. 

Nyma took a moment and buried her face in his hair as she gathered her emotions. A chuckle escaped him. 

Lance was used to their lack of boundaries. Their history was long and complicated, filled with foolishness, tattoos, and entirely too much alcohol. They grew up together in the same neighborhood but met in elementary school. As time passed, they traded in their markers for sharpies. Sharpies eventually became tattoo machines. None of which appeased his family. His mother cried and threw holy water at him when he came home with his first tattoo.

Nyma was one of the few friends he could truly be himself around. She helped him see a whole other side he kept hidden to conform with the hyper-masculinity plaguing his family. They experimented with beauty products, gender norms, and sex. He’d never forget the first time they went to get their asses waxed. Some experiences in life were only for certain witnesses. Having his ass hairs ripped from the root was an exclusive Nyma category. 

She was a creative genius on all fronts. Her piano skills induced tears and she had knack for designing hair. She was nearing her one-year anniversary at his mother’s salon, Tijeritas. 

“So what are we thinking? Wanna keep the undercut?” She pondered, running her hands over his head. Her fingers applied a light pressure on his scalp. They traveled lower to his nape and underneath his ears. She massaged in a circular motion that made him want to drool. He had to force himself to keep his eyes opened. 

“Yeah, maybe just tame the fringe… tidy the fade,” He mumbled with a goofy look on his face. “They invited me to Luna’s birthday party at a fuckin’ country club.”

“Gross,” Nyma lamented, shifting to measure his ends with her fingertips. “Well, at least you get to see your baby girl.”

Lance nodded looking into the mirror. Perhaps if he stared hard enough it would reveal a master plan on how to survive the party. The ambiguity was petrifying. He looked over to where his mother was working away with a client. The party would remain a secret. His parents would demand to be there, and he doubted he’d even be able to bring a plus one. Lance sighed, knowing that he’d have to go with the least regrettable decision.

“By the way, you don’t know about this party,” he said, effectively sealing his fate.

Nyma saluted with two fingers, “Scouts honor, my dude. So when’s the next Panic gig?”

Lance groaned at the thought as she began trimming excess hair. “We’ve got our Christmas show booked at the Cradle, but other than that I haven’t had any time to focus on the band.”

“Don’t sweat it, we all stay busy. You hear Sven’s dating someone?” Her updates matched the pace of her scissors snipping away.

Gossip hour at the salon was one of his favorite pastimes. Lance’s eyes lit up at the information. “Are you serious?! Who is it? I haven’t heard from him since the party.”

Nyma looked at him in the mirror. Lance winked at her. She flicked her tongue at him making him laugh. “Some weird guy named Slav. He’s one of those Garrison nerds,” she said waving her scissors around. 

Lance hummed, completely unfazed by the safety hazard and reached for his phone. Hunk could do some recon.

“Speaking of Garrison nerds, how are things with the photographer?” She asked, admiring her work before prepping her clippers. 

Lance rolled his head around contemplating his response. “They're going…”

Armed with a pair of clippers and a fist on her hip, Nyma gestured at the mirror. “You still haven’t had sex with him?!”

He slammed his face into an open palm. “We’re taking it slow.”

“Lance McClain doesn’t do slow,” She bluntly reminded him. He shrugged and diverted his gaze. “I mean, seriously, by now you would’ve at least had a —” She paused and gestured a blowjob. “—story to tell. Am I wrong?” 

She wasn’t, but it didn’t stop him from grimacing at the insinuation that he was some kind of slut. He figured that was the impression he was giving since things ended with Allura. She was the last serious relationship he had, and a lot of his encounters were one-night-stands. 

He wanted things to be different with Keith. Scratch that. Things were different with Keith, and as much as it challenged his razzle-dazzle factor, he was once again falling for all the little aspects of relationships he desperately wanted to forget. 

The situation with Allura crushed his heart. The ache from the catastrophe still caused tremors that threatened the questionable patch job. Claws sunk deep into thick tissue leaving behind vicious scars. He made things worse by pulling away. 

Keith was surprisingly gentle for a man who looked like he could drop kick him out of a window at any given moment. He displayed his affection in a subtle manner leaving Lance enthralled and excited to see what was next. As painstakingly slow as their relationship was unraveling, Lance clung to the positive vibes they cultivated. Lance smiled as thoughts of Keith fluttered about in his mind.

“Ew, are you in love with him or something?” Nyma asked, sporting a look of terror on her face. Lance looked up to the mirror catching a glimpse of her concern. 

His heartbeat was steady like a drum, but a rumble could be heard in the distance. The calm before the storm. He noticed its presence the first time he saw Keith at the show. Everything had gone quiet as he watched Keith’s shoulders tense up with every photo he took. He relied solely on the vibrations from the guitar strings to guide him to the next note. He recognized the exact moment when looking through the photos Keith had printed. He stared right into the camera lens, the purple lights electrified his skin. 

It was the first time in a while that a familiar warmth filled his chest and left his fingertips tingling. He found Keith unbearably attractive. It was effortless and understated and drew him in like a moth to a flame. Intuition told him the ache went beyond infatuation. Lance wanted to know everything about Keith. He wanted to dip his toe into the infinite pool that was Keith’s being. He hoped Keith wanted the same.

Lance shrugged, unable to respond in a way that felt honest. For once the words weren’t coming to him.

“I’m just saying this is strange for you,” Nyma shared, pressing his ear down to begin shaping his fade. He picked up on the shift in her tone. “I hope he’s worth the wait.”

Lance had played it off as a joke at the show. Was it love though?

He was once in love with Allura but he couldn’t pinpoint the feelings Keith was bringing up. He rationalized, knowing that love came in many forms. Still, he was left with a bitter taste in his mouth. Why were things so different with Keith?

From the corner of the salon, his mother discreetly observed with her eagle eyes.

~***~

There were few instances where Lance felt uncomfortable in his own skin, but being at a country club in Altean Hills took the cake. He borrowed Hunk’s Mini Cooper, Mindy, knowing that Camila would stick out like a sore thumb. As he walked through the revolving doors, he checked himself out in one of the golden mirrors near the Great Hall where the party was being held.

His hair was parted on one side and brushed back. Nyma worked her magic and styled it before he left the apartment. He consciously chose to disregard the dress code. Lance quickly straighten out the collar of his denim button up shirt and made sure the sleeves were neatly rolled up. He didn’t care that his tattoos were exposed. Satisfied with his overall look and ready to stunt on all the cougars, Lance strutted into the hall. 

Immediately, he wanted to gouge his eyes out at the sight of ice sculptures, chocolate fountains, and waitresses walking around with glass trays full of mini crackers and cheeses. There were about twenty tables with golden table clothes and porcelain tea kettles. The chairs had gold and white bows wrapped around them and each table had its own centerpiece made up of white roses and peonies and yellow chrysanthemums. People crowded the elaborate fondue station as waitresses whipped around bringing plates to the tables. 

This was supposed to be a celebration for a four-year-old. A four-year-old who was obsessed with _Peppa Pig_ and _Moana_. Not some ancient British queen with a powdered ass. 

Lance knew he shouldn’t have come alone. He quickly talked himself out of asking Keith when he realized he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if someone in Allura’s family began harassing him. He’d set the whole place on fire. That, or knock over an ice sculpture.

“Lance McClain,” The cool voice sent a jolt up his spine that left him frayed and jittery. It was a guillotine ready to deliver its favorite verdict. His movements felt sluggish as he turned to face the owner of the voice that simultaneously ignited fear and anger in his bones. 

Alfor Juniberry. 

The man stood a few inches taller than him with a full beard and slicked back white hair. Intimidating didn’t quite capture the man’s essence. He casually adjusted his trademark, red pocket square on his navy blazer. The look in his eyes emulated a sizzling knife ready to cut through butter. 

Lance watched as the man gave him a once-over, focusing on his salmon-colored pants before he spoke again. “We require a simple palette and you come dressed in pink. Why am I not surprised?”

“Pacific salmon are an endangered species,” Lance stated as nonchalantly as he could with a glass of white wine in his hand. He was highly aware of his feet in his white Vans. “Call it my political statement.”

Alfor cracked a smile at him. Lance had difficulties looking him in the eyes. Alfor reached over to grip his shoulder. He squeezed with unprecedented strength. Lance winced recognizing the patronizing power move. He was a dog that had to remain seated for ten seconds before he got his treat. 

“You know the rules. Stick to them, and we’ll be just fine,” Alfor reminded him. Shoulder released from Satan’s death grip, Lance saluted him and forced down his first glass of wine. 

He walked around until he found the table with his name card on it. Not surprisingly, he was seated in the back. He looked over at the name cards at his table immediately recognizing Coran’s name. How much did they pay that man?

“Well, well! If it isn’t Lancey-Lance!” A chipper voice rang from behind him, a far cry from Alfor’s chilling baritone.

He turned to face the man with hair brighter than the sun. Coran patted his shoulder and sat down next to him. “What a coincidence, we’re at the same table!”

“You can cool it with the theatrics, Coran,” Lance said, running a finger across the name card. It was heavy card stock and his name was embossed in gold. He couldn’t believe how tacky these people were. He had yet to organize a birthday party for Luna, but he knew she’d preferred streamers, birthday hats, and whoopee cushions over tiny finger sandwiches and tea kettles. 

There were no balloons in sight.

“So Lance, what’s new?” Coran politely asked as he crossed his legs. 

Lance rolled his jaw and tapped the name card on the table. “Listen, I’m just here to see Luna and wish her a happy birthday. Spare me the small talk.”

Coran crossed his arms and frowned. “Is that any way to treat the man that covered for you and Allura all those years ago?”

Lance scoffed. That was rich. Before he could retort, Coran discreetly slid a Polaroid across the table. Lance was careful not to look too enthused and noticed an image of cotton candy with the number six written underneath it. The look on his face softened, Allura had a knack for speaking in code. 

“I can buy the three of you an hour or so. Two tops.” Coran whispered, quickly pocketing the photograph in his suit jacket. 

The lump in his throat felt heavy. Somewhere along the line, his life was reduced to a trivial game of hide-and-seek. He was powerless to change the fact that their daughter would never see them interacting in a normal manner. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but Alfor squashed his attempts like a bug. Who was he to challenge an attorney general?

“I’ll think about it,” Lance said, his voice low and deflated. He could feel Coran’s eyes studying him.

“You’ll think about it?” The older man reflected, leaning in closer to him. “Lance, I’m telling you that she will be there.” 

“I don’t know if I want to see her,” Lance said without thinking. 

The words felt like sandpaper on his tongue. His breath hitched as he looked away to avoid tearing up. It had been four years since he last saw Allura, and while his seventeen-year-old version of himself dragged his nails down his face, there was a part of Lance that had let go. 

And he didn’t feel guilty about it. 

Their fairytale no longer had a happily ever after. 

Once upon a time, they were going to be high school sweethearts set to go to Volt University. She dreamed of following in her father’s footsteps and becoming a lawyer. He wanted to go down a business or communications track. 

Allura wanted to set up a practice in a backwoods town in order to help those most in need. He often wondered if her vision had changed. 

Lance would’ve singlehandedly carved out an intricate cave system if that’s where she wanted to settle down. They fantasized about their future while sitting in his car eating McDonald’s ice cream cones watching Leon’s most absurd looking vehicles drive down the busiest street in town.

Once upon a time, she was the woman he wanted to marry. Naïve, ocean blue eyes saw a future written in the stars. He wasn’t scared when she shared she was pregnant. It was all part of the plan and he was open about the timeline as long as she was by his side. Quick like a fox, Allura’s father burst their bubble with a swift prick from reality’s needlepoint. 

Coran silently scrutinized him when a small hand gripped his ankle and startled him. Lance lifted the tablecloth as a small head popped up sporting a wide grin.

“Boo!”

Lance dramatically gasped and covered his face with his hands as his daughter’s laughter filled his heart with joy. He slid down to the floor to join her underneath the table. 

“Did you get scared, papi?” Luna asked with frosting caked on her cheek. He reached up to wipe her face with his thumb. 

“Luna, you’re so scary, princesita. My heart is beating so fast!” Lance exclaimed making her giggle. His arms reached out for her to crash into with as much force as her tiny frame could muster. Arms secured tightly around her, he cradled her head as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

“Feliz cumpleaños, baby girl.” He whispered, placing a kiss on the top of her head. Her wavy white hair was slick back into two buns held together by red bows. 

“Gracias…” She mumbled into his shirt.

They couldn’t find a way to let go. The feeling wasn’t new. He wished he could see her every day. He had already missed so much of her childhood and despised that he had to be grateful for the minimal time he could spend with her. 

She was his light and even though her arrival came several years too early, she was the greatest gift the universe bestowed upon him. She was born within a cloud of dust, remnants of a collapsed relationship. A star in her own right. 

Luna pulled back, placing her chubby hands on his face. Lance sucked his cheeks in to make a fish face causing Luna to burst into light, bubbly giggles. He couldn’t help but return the laughter as she attempted to mimic him. 

“Like this?” She asked, pursing her lips. He would never grow tired of the twinkle in her crystalline eyes. She had her mother’s eyes and his smile. Luna symbolized the unstoppable force he once hoped to embody alongside Allura. He had resigned knowing there were no realities where he could be with her. Forever the optimist, a part of him hoped Luna would carry on their dream in some way. There was no way it could die with them.

“Did you bring milkshakes?” Luna innocently asked. Lance threw his head back and laughed. 

“No, princesita. I’m sorry,” Lance lamented with a soft look in his eyes. “Maybe one of these days we can go out and get some.”

“I can ask grandpa!” She suggested, plopping down in between his legs. Lance nodded and hunched over to meet her gaze, kissing the top of her forehead. “Mami está aqui.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Lance froze and looked his daughter straight in the eyes. He forced himself to maintain his composure for her sake. 

She knew. 

Her hands were already carrying the weight of a fractured relationship making him instantly regret ever imposing his expired dreams on her. 

He forced his anxiety down and nodded, “Yo se, pero no la he visto todavía…”

“She looks super pretty!” Luna proudly announced, throwing her hands in the air. “I don’t like dresses.”

Lance pulled her back into a hug. “I know you don’t, but you look so cute in your red dress.”

“I like your pink pants, papi. Can I have pink pants?” She asked, her feet planted on his thighs. 

Lance rubbed his chin in contemplation, “Something tells me you already have more pink pants than me.”

Luna shrugged her shoulders and pretended half of her closet wasn’t made up of pink pants. “Abu said she’s asking Santa to bring me pink ‘bans’.”

Lance gasped and crossed his arms. “She stole my idea!” 

Luna giggled and jumped off his legs. She sat further down from him and grabbed onto his feet. She gave him her best smile and cleverly suggested he ask Santa to bring white Vans instead. Of course, his only child was a fashionista.

They sat together for a while playing hand-clapping games before she scurried off to find Alfor to ask about milkshakes. 

Lance took a few minutes to compose himself. He couldn’t believe his daughter knew. It worried him that it was already so apparent. What kind of lies were they feeding her about her father? He knew Allura was incapable of doing such a thing, but he wouldn’t put it past her father. Lance hadn’t noticed any shifts in Luna’s behavior toward him, but he feared her rejection. 

As he was about to crawl back out, a pair of golden Jimmy Choo strappy sandals halted him in his place while Coran had a conversation with the woman. 

“Where is the boy?” The voice asked. He immediately connected it with Allura’s mother, Aura. 

Coran flawlessly depicted an elaborate story about Lance running off to the fondue station, satisfying her inquiry. 

“Please keep an eye on him, Coran. I’m begging you. I don’t want anything to ruin this day for Allura or Luna.” 

Lance saw red. Why did everyone assume he was the problematic one?

He eventually crawled out and thanked Coran for not outing him. The last thing he needed was to hand the Juniberry’s extra ammunition to ridicule him. Luna didn’t return; he figured Alfor managed to distract her. He sat in his seat quietly observing people mingling with one another. They carried on meaningless conversations that didn’t pertain to his daughter. 

It was clear this was a perfectly timed political stunt. Alfor took every opportunity available to craft a flawless image of himself. He was a family man. He cared about the children. He cared about the community. The public always needed reaffirming, and he wasn’t above using his family to get the message across. Lance knew better given his premiere access and front row seats when shit hit the fan. Alfor Juniberry was a monster ready to sink his teeth into anything viewed as a threat. 

There was no sense in keeping up with the charade. His table quickly filled up with people who didn’t know he was Luna’s father. The older woman next to him struck up a conversation about his tattoos. 

“You know, those are permanent,” She commented, taking a sip of her Manhattan. 

_So’s that botched nose job._

Lance stifled a laugh and gave her his million dollar smile. He leaned forward and took the cherry from her drink. “Says a lot about a man’s character,” he said sucking the cherry off the stem. “You know, being able to commit to such ‘permanent’ things.”

He couldn’t read the woman’s expression. Her face no longer had the elasticity to move properly. 

“You’re simply adorable,” She praised, reaching over to caress his face. Her wrists dripped with perfume. He tried not to cringe and managed to pull away to catch Coran laughing behind his program. “Are you single? I’m looking for a nice, young man for my daughter.”

“Sorry, this bad boy is taken,” He lied with a wink. The woman frowned and immediately turned her attention elsewhere. 

Coran promptly dropped his program and crossed his arms. “Are you now?” he asked, interest piqued. Lance wiggled his eyebrows at him and shrugged. 

Lance made eye contact with a waitress, gesturing for another glass of wine. “I’m assuming you’ll be reporting the news to headquarters.”

“No,” Coran quickly responded, reaching out to tap his glass with Lance’s. “I’m sure that will be quite the conversation starter for you and the Princess.”

When they were younger, Coran would refer to them by code names. Allura was the Princess and he was Lover Boy. Coran was easily amused and had too much time on his hands. 

Lance sighed as his gaze drifted off into the crowd. He turned to see if he could spot Luna. Something was telling him it was time to go. The air was heavy and stale with resentful memories. 

Before he could stand up, the lights dimmed and focused on the small stage where Alfor stood with Luna in his arms. A microphone amplified his stern voice commanding the room to be still. 

“Friends and family, thank you for joining us this afternoon to celebrate my beautiful granddaughter on her birthday,” A brief applause erupted from the room causing Lance to fidget in his seat. He felt Coran squeeze his shoulder. The gesture left him feeling more nervous than comforted. “I wanted to take a moment to appreciate the love and support you all have shown us throughout the years. We wouldn’t be the Juniberry’s without you.”

Lance rolled his eyes into oblivion. The man’s ego flooded the hall, intent on drowning them all. Their mesmerized gazed lifted him higher up on his marble pedestal. Lance wished he could knock him down a notch or two by revealing that he was keeping his granddaughter from seeing her father.

He could hear his mother’s condescending tone as thoughts fueled by pure hatred entered his mind. They had taught him better than to hate others, but the rage had long since curdled. It clung to him like a spider web, trapping him. Forever his prey.

“That being said, we have some wonderful news to share with you all,” Alfor announced as he gestured for someone to come up to the stage.

“Great,” Lance mumbled under his breath. He turned to Coran, “Let me guess, he’s running for governor?”

Coran shrugged, and Lance suspiciously side-eyed him. 

There were very few instances where Lance felt his breath taken away, but seeing Allura for the first time in four years was all it took for his lungs to shrivel into prunes. His knuckles turned white from the tight grip on the back of his chair as she joined her father on the stage. Confusion colored her gaze. 

“Oh my God,” He whispered to himself. She was stunning and stood tall in all of her glory, forcing him to eat his words from earlier. Her long, beautiful hair was pinned to the side as her natural curls cascaded over her shoulder. His heartbeat thrashed against his chest, the tremors rolled down his ribcage. He was suddenly aware of his inability to properly swallow. 

He couldn’t deny that she was once the most important person in his life. She was the love of his life. He was once willing to part the seas for her. Her wish was his command. She was never aware of the influence she had in his life. She never abused her power. Allura was a kind and loving spirit and none of this was her fault. 

Why wasn’t that enough? 

Hot tears boiled up at the corners of his eyes. Seeing her reminded him of everything she didn’t do to fight for their family. He was overwrought with conflicting emotions. 

Who was he to hold anything against her? Allura shut down after giving birth. She was absent for the majority of the firefight that occurred between their families. Her father worked his magic to obtain her a leave absence from school. 

Lance wasn’t aware of what happened after, but seeing her standing next to her father was a far cry from the broken teenager laying in a hospital bed with sweat-matted bangs plastered on her forehead and tear-stained cheeks. 

He’d never forget the sound her screams. The vice grip she had on his arm. The lunar imprints of her nails had turned to scars. His fingers followed a familiar trail down his forearm.

“As you all know, my beautiful daughter, Allura recently graduated from Volt University and is currently in her first year at law school,” The crowd burst into cheers. Alfor chuckled as he continued, “Words cannot adequately describe how proud I am of her and the woman she has become.”

Alfor continued describing all the pleasant aspects of his perfect daughter. It was rare hearing him speak the truth. 

“She is an amazing daughter and mother, and I want to take this moment to raise a glass to her because soon,” He paused as he lifted a champagne flute in her direction. Allura’s eyes widen. She stepped closer to her father, but the mic barely picked up on what she was trying to say. 

“Soon, she will be an amazing wife.”

Lance froze in his spot as he watched a man join them. He was tall with a strangely thin yet muscular frame. His hair was slick back, a pair of Ray-Bans kept his bangs from his face. He watched Allura trying to contain herself as the man reached for her waist and shook Alfor’s hand. Lance felt his shoulders tense in defense. Old habit. 

“Everyone, please join me in congratulating my daughter and future son-in-law. The son of my dearest friend, Zarkon Daibazaal. The ever-charming, Prince Lotor Daibazaal.” Alfor declared as he shifted to hand Luna over to the man now standing next to him. 

Without thinking, Lance followed the crowd and stood from his seat. Rusted joints were suddenly rendered useless keeping his feet firmly planted on the burgundy carpet. His eyes burned holes through the man holding his daughter. The man in a light purple polo. 

“That’s not nautical themed,” Lance pointed out to no one in particular. He hadn’t blinked since the announcement was made and disregarded the burning sensation in his eyes. He fixated on the lavender shirt man and how he smiled at Luna. How she returned the smile. Luna knew him. Lance’s mind immediately went into a frenzy. 

What if the Prince guy formally adopted Luna? Could he do that? Would that further restrict his time with her? 

_Would… would she call him dad?_

Lance was all too aware of the sweat accumulating on his brow as his body temperature sky-rocketed. His eyes found Allura who looked out to the crowd. The look on her face was indecipherable but the second their eyes met, Lance knew the announcement was not her idea. The crashing sound of glass as her champagne flute slipped from her perfectly manicured fingers was the grease he needed to kick his gears into motion. He needed to leave. 

Body swimming through molasses, his brain went on autopilot as he managed to calmly walk out of the hall. Everyone turned their attention to Allura who ran off the stage. 

Once safe outside of the country club, Lance’s legs took control. His lungs burned by the time he reached Hunk’s car. Hands trembling, he dropped the keys three times before he stopped to ground himself. Lance slammed an open palm on the roof of the car. He wanted to scream. Alfor had led him straight into another trap and he was foolish enough to fall for it. 

“Lance!” 

He turned to see Allura waving her arm and running in his direction. The woman was strong beyond belief and could outrun anyone in her Louboutins. 

Lance was on the verge of hyperventilating and couldn’t see straight, but he managed to fumble with the keys and get inside the car. He shifted into reverse and sped off before she could reach him. It took everything not to fly out of the vehicle when he looked into the rearview mirror and saw Allura standing there, defeated. Coran had caught up with her and scooped her into a hug. 

He turned up the radio to drown out the sounds of her screaming his name. 

_L-Lance! I can’t. There’s no way. It hurts so much!_

_It’s okay, it’s okay. If anyone can do this, it’s you. I’m right here._

His heart was heavy, but he couldn’t risk giving her father yet another excuse to keep Luna away from him. He begged the universe for Allura to understand. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he hated her. 

Lance loved her but he loved his daughter more. 

Officially in need of a stiff drink, Lance reached for his phone out of habit. His history was Nyma was indeed long and complicated. They were friends with wild, intense, and meaningless benefits. She had once left him chained to a tree. He desperately wanted to throw caution to the wind and go forth with their usual debauchery. He tapped his phone on his chin as he wrestled with his fate. 

He bit his lip and searched through his contacts.

“Hey, I’m feeling like shit. Do you want to go out tonight?”

The rest was a blur. Dancing bodies, someone was grinding up against him. Maybe he was grinding up against them? The alcohol and music pumped through his veins as he lifted his arms. His hips swayed with ease and there were hands on his chest. Then they rested on his hips. Someone definitely grabbed his ass. 

He was in his element. Alive but not quite lucid. 

The next day he woke up startled with a hangover from hell drilling a hole in his temple. He squinted and attempted to lift his head up, soft fabric peeled away from his drool-covered cheek. Lance looked around to figure out where the hell he ended up. A familiar man-bun was his first clue.

“Keith…” He said, his throat was drier than the pine needles stuck in his hair. “What the hell happened?”

Something moved next to his leg causing Lance to screech at the top of his lungs. Keith’s eyes shot open as he sat up and clutched onto Lance’s arms. He didn’t say anything and looked past Lance’s shoulders. Pidge rolled over their legs covering her ears. 

“You wretched human being,” She groaned, crawling onto her knees. She was wearing his salmon-colored pants. He looked down to see he was only in his boxer briefs. 

“What the fuck did we do last night?” Lance asked in a lower tone. He rubbed his eyes and Keith flopped back down to the floor. Lance struggled to keep himself upright. His body was not used to the long break from drinking excursions. At one point he was going out on a regular basis. 

Pidge mirrored him, her eye makeup smeared on her face. “Went out, got wasted, kicked out of Waffle House,” she recounted, moving her fingers to massage her temples. “We lost Hunk.”

Lance froze, still straddling Keith who’s hands were running up and down his thighs. His heart jumped up his throat. Hunk and Lance never lost each other on nights out. They had a buddy system. 

“I’m right here,” Hunk croaked from the kitchen. 

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Lance called out in relief. He crawled over to the kitchen to see if Hunk was okay. “Hey, man…”

Hunk gave him a thumbs up with a meek look on his face. His hair was disheveled and the words Blue Waffle were written on his forehead. Lance snorted, wishing he had some context but his memory was a blank canvas. 

“I saw her.”

Hunk yawned and lightly patted his head. “I figured that’s what this was about.”

They both sat up, backs pressed up against mahogany kitchen cabinets. Lance leaned his head on his best friend’s shoulder.

“She’s getting married,” Lance mumbled, rubbing his nose with his palm. Hunk cursed under his breath, thoroughly understanding the hasty invite. Their voices were low even though Keith and Pidge had moved to their couch to watch _Friends_ and guzzle water.

He shared the message she had passed on through Coran and expressed his hesitancy to meet her. Hunk reassured him that he wouldn’t be an awful person for not wanting to go, but encouraged him to think about it. 

“I don’t know, maybe it’ll be a good opportunity to get some closure,” Hunk explained as he stood up from the floor. “Listen, I’m proud of you…”

Lance gave him a puzzled look and reached up to grab Hunk’s hand. The taller man pulled him up with ease. “I’m happy you decided to reach out to us instead.” Hunk clarified as vaguely as he could. Lance snorted and nodded in agreement. Somethings had to change if he was going to be serious about Keith.

“Well, I now know why we got kicked out of Waffle House.” Pidge declared staring at her phone. Lance walked over and flopped down next to her on the couch. Keith scooted over to give Hunk some room to join them. They all huddled close to watch a video of Lance handstand twerking at their table.

“That core strength though!” Lance yelled as he loud laughed. He turned to Keith, “What the hell were you doing the whole time?”

“I was DD, not your babysitter,” Keith huffed, adjusting his position on the couch. “I will say that I enjoyed when you started yelling out all the reasons why it’s okay for us to take things slow…”

Lance’s face reddened. He was a dramatic drunk, so he wasn’t surprised that a monologue slipped through at some point during the night. His throat clenched at the thought of Keith being on the receiving end of such a personal one. Usually, he exerted more self-control. 

“Or the part where you stood on the table and sang to me in Spanish,” Keith said, a finger pressed to his bottom lip. 

“That’s to be expected,” Hunk conferred, unfazed. “Did he sing _I Wanna Dance With Somebody_?”

“He started to, but then he decided he wanted to strip first. That was your third strike with Mango and what really got us kicked out,” Keith explained, biting at a hangnail. Lance frowned at him, conveying his disapproval of the gnawing. “She’s pissed at you by the way.”

Lance sucked at his teeth, dismissing the comment. Nothing a good night’s sleep and a shot of tequila couldn’t mend. Mango never stayed angry at him for too long.

~***~

Later that week his guilty conscious forced him to swing by Waffle House to check in on his favorite waitress. He patiently waited at the bar finishing up his hash browns and Diet Coke. He enjoyed the atmosphere and genuinely missed working there. He’d often work late night shifts to accommodate his school schedule. The exhaustion crept up on him, but the good company made up for it.

Mango had taken him under her wing and taught him everything from how to make the best hash browns to putting someone in a chokehold over the bar while simultaneously calling the police. 

She had mastered both. 

The woman had a reputation and was someone he respected. It made it that much difficult to look her in the eye when she finally walked over to him. She popped her gum and finished tying her apron before resting a fist on her hip. The scowl on her face aged her. 

Lance let out a nervous laugh and scratched his temple. “So, Mango. About the other day…”

Her face remained unchanged. She continued smacking loudly on her gum. 

Lance nodded, his fingers drummed on the bar top. “I have tequila?” He hesitantly offered, sliding a thermos in her direction. She scoffed and smirked, spitting out her gum in a small trash bin and taking back a large swig. She slammed the thermos down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Your reservation is still on for the 23rd,” Mango said, her voice flat and uninterested. 

Lance laughed as he reached for her face and planted a kiss on her cheek. He stood from his stool, pointing finger guns in her direction. “That’s why you’re my number one girl!” 

“Boy, you’ve done lost your mind,” She said with a cackle, wiping her cheek. “Get on outta here!” 

Lance laughed and adjusted his jacket as he strolled out the door. There was so much to look forward to. He walked with a spring in his step smiling at those walking by. Change was inevitable at this point. Expectations were securely fastened to helium balloons and released into the sky. Like always, he skipped the fine print delineating that if found, the deflated globes would be returned to their rightful owner. 

**Coran Smythe:** I’m extremely disappointed in you, Lance.


	5. And When I Cry, Who's Going To Make It Okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! So sorry for the wait. Originally this was one massive chapter (it's still pretty long), but I decided to make it into two. Enjoy part one! Feedback/thoughts are always appreciated :)

The light peered through their fingers hovering above their heads creating a kaleidoscope effect. Crisp air tingled the tips of their ears, and the sound of birds and early morning joggers kept their thoughts at bay. They laid sprawled out on the dewy grass with their heads resting on each other’s shoulder. Keith smiled when the backs of their hands brushed against each other and Lance finally caught his fingers. 

“Stay still,” Keith said reaching over to grab his phone. He steadied it as best as he could with one hand and took a picture of the light creating a silhouette of their hands. His eyes focused on the contrast of their black and white hoodie sleeves, using it as a frame for his photo. 

Satisfied with the image, Keith rolled over onto his stomach and held onto the sides of Lance’s head, catching his bottom lip with teeth and pulling him into a kiss. 

“You’re so romantic,” Lance said in between kisses. 

He shrugged, pushing himself up to his knees. He hooked his arms under Lance’s armpits and dragged him in between his legs. Lance limped in his embrace enjoying the gesture. Keith secured his arms around his middle, stuffing his hands into the pocket of Lance’s Volt hoodie.

His physical therapist had cleared him for running and Lance was tagging along on early morning jogs. It was nice to have someone there with him, although he did have set days of the week where he went alone for the sake of his sanity. 

Unsurprisingly, Lance wanted to talk the entire jog. It was clear that the man had an opinion on just about everything, much to Keith’s chagrin. His therapist thought it would be great practice to ‘sit with’ whatever feelings Lance’s rants were bringing up. He had morbidly joked about the health risks associated with being too sedentary. 

Lance shifted in his embrace to face him. “You wanna go get something to eat? I’m kinda feeling —.”

“Don’t say it,” Keith interrupted pressing his index finger to his lips. Lance smiled and kissed his fingertip, leaning in closer to him. “Don’t even think about it.”

Lance frowned while bumping their foreheads together. “C’mon, man! It’s easy, cheap, and you gotta admit the food is bomb.”

“It’s cheap, gross, and I don’t know why they haven’t shut it down,” Keith countered, placing an open palm on Lance’s forehead to push him away. 

“Okay, Mr. Bougie,” Lance snapped, narrowing his eyes at Keith. “You decide.”

Keith mulled over his options and sighed, knowing where they could go. 

Lance talked the whole drive to the Holt’s house, forgoing his usual jam session. He had gifted Keith a cassette adapter so they could play music from their phones. It didn’t take him long to stake his claim over the stereo, typically choosing to blast Spanish trap music Keith couldn’t understand. He was left to awkwardly exist next to a man who tried vocalizing every part of every song. 

When they pulled up to the paved driveway, Lance was quick to observe his surroundings. 

“Where are we?” Lance asked as he cranked at the handle on the door to roll up his window. 

Keith swallowed thickly before responding. “My parents’ house.” 

Lance’s eyes bugged and his hand reached out to grip the center console. “Wha— Why are we here?! Keith, I look and smell horrible. I can’t meet your parents! This is the kinda thing you talk about before —”

Keith reached out to grab his hand before he destroyed the last fully functional aspect of Red’s ancient interior. “No, they’re not home. I thought…” He paused, trying to read Lance’s expression. “I thought we could just hang out here for a bit.”

They walked up to the entrance and Keith scanned his palm to unlock the front door. The house was located on the affluent side of Leon conveniently bordering Altean Hills. They were the rich liberals on the block with rooftop solar panels, a water collection system, and a Volvo in one of their garages. 

Sam was a tenured professor and researcher in the Aerospace department at the Garrison. The man lived in space and was one of the Garrison’s prized possessions. Colleen was a software engineer and the founder of a non-profit organization focused on increasing accessibility of STEM fields within the community. Matt and Pidge often volunteered to teach children how to code. 

While Keith preferred a minimalist lifestyle, the place had grown on him.

Keith smiled as Lance marveled at the technology powering the house. It was advanced on intricate levels unique to the Holt brand. Colleen had designed the security measures that only responded to members of the immediate family. Sam had designed the interior to flawlessly adapt to changing environmental factors while also reducing their carbon footprint.

Keith personally loved the heated ergonomic flooring that worked magic on his posture. He looked over to watch Lance staring at his feet and picking up on the difference.

Something told him Lance would love to hear that their shower water was infused with vitamin C. Excessive was an understatement, and up until he was placed with the Holts, Keith didn’t know such luxuries even existed. Growing up, he was grateful if he landed in a foster home where they remembered to pay the electricity bill on time.

Keith pulled out a griddle and looked across the island where Lance flopped down on a cushioned stool and stared at the intricate light fixtures hanging above.

“If I tell it to turn on, will it turn on?” Lance asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes. Keith chuckled and shook his head. Everything was programmed to receive commands exclusively from Holt family members. Keith was old-fashioned and walked over to flip the switch. Lance frowned and motioned with his chin to the griddle. 

“So, what’s cookin’, good lookin’?” He asked with a wink. 

Keith walked over to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs. “I’ve been told I make a mean breakfast sandwich.”

Lance rubbed his palms together and licked his lips. “That sounds glorious. Can I have two?”

Keith nodded as he cracked an egg on the griddle. Lance proceeded to give him a list of ingredients he wanted on his sandwich. Keith kept his simple, choosing to go with an everything bagel, a fried egg, bacon, and extra onion and chive cream cheese. 

While Keith cooked, Lance took photos. Lance shared that photos of Keith had boosted his social media popularity. Lance lived attached to his phone and could only function if he documented his life on a day-to-day basis. He especially loved to document Keith, who chose to remain private except for his inactive Instagram account where his artwork would once go to die and his Facebook where Colleen was still sending Word with Friends requests. 

They sat together at the island and enjoyed their late morning breakfast. Lance downed the last of his orange juice and slammed his empty cup on the granite countertop, burping loudly. “Dude, you’ve got to have Hunk try these. That was majestic.”

Gratitude tinted his cheeks a pale pink color. Keith wiped a napkin over his mouth and hopped off his stool offering to take Lance’s plate to the sink. 

“So, you gonna show me around?” Lance asked, drumming his fingers on the counter. “This place is dope.”

Keith shrugged, wiping his hand on a dishtowel. They walked around and Keith pointed out the main areas of the first floor. Lance groveled over the heated pool from the deck. Keith pulled on his hood to keep him from running off and jumping in. 

“This is my favorite spot,” Keith pointed out as they walked toward bay windows on the second floor. The nook area was filled with pillows and a mustard-colored throw. He’d spent most of his time in the space when he was first placed with the Holts. Colleen added the throw after finding him asleep there multiple times. 

Keith watched as Lance soaked in every detail. He sat down on the cushioned bench, hugging his knees to his chest. The sun’s rays beamed into the back of his neck.

Lance chuckled as he looked at some family photos on the wall. “Must’ve been nice growing up here,” he commented, continuing to peruse. “Hey! You did have a gap in your teeth!”

Keith frowned and rubbed a sleeve across his itchy nose. “Yeah, fun times being the kid in college with braces.”

Lance turned, a dreamy look painted on his face, “It’s a shame you don’t show off that smile more often.”

His toes curled until they popped. He’d lift his eyes occasionally to watch Lance lean closer to the wall. The view reminded him of his own curiosity when looking through Lance’s photos, only his were real. 

Eyes diverted at the dark thought. 

He was a Holt on paper even though he chose not to take their name. Biologically, he didn’t belong. He felt photoshopped into all of their family albums. He’d never forget the first calendar he was featured in that was sent to their entire family. Aesthetically, he didn’t belong either. The outsider feeling never quite escaped him. 

“So, where’s your room?” Lance asked, crossing his arms bring him back from his pit of thoughts.

Keith grumbled as he stood up, his joints screamed at him the entire way. The jog had taken more out of him than he cared to admit. They walked down the long corridor decorated with floating shelves home to books, family heirlooms, and more photos. 

They paused in front of a dark maroon door, his grip tight on the handle. He turned to look at Lance almost as a warning. He wanted to warn him, but he wasn’t sure of what. The room held onto some of his darkest moments that carried their own caution signs, invisible to the naked eye. 

The room, despite being the smallest in size, fit a queen sized bed, a desk, a small drawing table, and a large window with a wide sill he made into another reading area. Sam had shared that it used to be his office and one of his favorite places in the house. 

For the longest time, Keith had refused to personalize it. He never had a space to claim as his own and lacked the inspiration to decorate. His caseworker had reminded him not to get attached. The Holt family was supposed to be a temporary placement while they searched for an appropriate group home. He could still hear his cynical laugh as he slammed the door of her government-issued Prius. 

Much to his disappointment, Pidge latched onto him like the cellophane on the Cosmic Brownies he used to survive off in high school. He tried flinging her off his finger only to have her wrap around his wrist. He wasn’t pleased with her enthusiasm to get him acclimated to the space. 

A dusty, red duffle bag poked out from under the bed. The bag was the only thing he carried around when he was in the foster system. It housed the few belongings he had to his name. 

It used to remain packed, serving as a timer. All of his experiences had an expiration date. Now it was a deflated reminder of a distant past.

He flopped onto his bed and pulled his hair tie letting his long locks roll down his back. Lance looked like he was part of an investigation the way he carefully analyzed Keith’s belongings. The weirdness was settling in. His attention drifted to the wall of photos behind his drawing table causing his blood pressure to spike through the roof. 

Keith looked over at Lance, who remained engrossed in his comic book collection. He stood up and reached for his arm, “So, that’s my room. Let’s go hang out downstairs. We have heated massage chairs I’m sure you’ll like.”

Lance planted his feet firmly, unwilling to move. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “We just got here. You snooped around mine, let me snoop around yours.”

Keith carded a hand through his overgrown bangs, refusing to release his grip. “You’ve already seen my actual room. This is just a bunch of junk I didn’t take with me.”

Lance was quick to twist out of his grip and returned his attention to the Batman comics. “This isn’t junk.”

Keith hastily tied his hair back up, preparing to drag him out if he had to. “Lance, can we go? I don’t —“

“Dude, why—” Lance protested, but paused when he caught sight of the wall of photos he had somehow missed when they first walked in. “Whoa… are those yours?”

Keith felt his ears burning with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. He shoved his fists into his hoodie and cast his gaze to the ground. 

Most of the prints were black and white. Matt had introduced him to a friend at Volt that had access to a darkroom where he discovered his love for manually developing photos. Keith spent endless hours hidden in the safety of the empty darkroom. 

It became a place of healing. Most people sought out the light through spiritual guidance. Keith found solace in a pitch black closet trying to manually roll film into a light-tight container. He also liked the strange smell of developer. 

Lance gaped at the photos showcasing a mix of abstracts, landscapes, and portraits. As much as Keith hated social interaction, he couldn’t deny his attraction to the human experience that only a camera could freeze in time. He craved the authenticity. Photography helped bridge a gap created by his long list of social deficiencies.

“Keith,” Lance’s tone softened. He leaned over the empty drawing table to get a closer look. “These are so beautiful.”

Keith clenched his fists hoping certain photos would blend in. They didn’t. It was asking too much of the universe. Impossible.

“Holy crow! Who is that?” Lance asked, pointing at an all too familiar photo. “Looks like a freakin’ model!”

“That’s… Shiro.” Keith answered, praying that Lance wouldn’t hear him. That, too, was an unreasonable request falling flat on the universe’s ears. 

He wasn’t prepared for the silence. Lance looked at him but his emotions were indecipherable, which couldn’t be a good sign. Lance nodded and hummed to himself as he moved on to the next photo. 

It was Keith’s turn to be utterly confused. He wasn’t expecting the lack of response. He felt compelled to call it out. The words burst out of him before he could catch himself. 

“You’re not gonna say anything?” 

Surely, Shiro deserved more than a nod and a hum. His projection splattered all over Lance’s persona. 

Lance sharply turned and gave him a look that made Keith wish he could swallow his tongue. 

“What would you like me to say?” 

Their eyes met for a brief second as Lance threatened to flip through the pages of his past. He studied him and Keith hated the way the soft look in his eyes pleaded for some answers. Answers Keith clutched onto as if his life depended on their secrecy. 

“Where’d you take the photo?” Lance asked when Keith didn’t respond. His intrigue was genuine, but Keith recognized the peace offering hidden underneath. Compromising wasn’t either one of their strong suits, but Lance knew how to navigate that realm better than Keith. There was no doubt in his mind he obtained those skills when he became a father.

Keith looked back up, sifting through dusty memories. There were so many photos. Shiro was his favorite subject and at one point in time, he could recite every minuscule detail.

“I don’t know,” he whispered as he lowered himself back onto the bed fearing he was going to pass out. He couldn’t remember. 

An image of a mountain-scape came to mind. The muted hues of dusk painted the sky a mixture of blues, pinks, and dark greens. The air was chilly, carrying the dewy remnants from the storm earlier in the day. 

Inklings of the first stars slowly poked their way through the wrinkled fabric all directing him to the luminous moon. The light it shared was a cool touch to the cheek. 

His eyes blinked as his vision blurred back into focus. He hadn’t noticed Lance moved to sit next to him. His body leaned into Keith’s space. 

“Must’ve been nice what you two had,” Lance muttered, staring at the wall of photographs. 

“We were best friends,” Keith offered, knowing it wasn’t enough. 

“Isn’t that the best?” Lance asked passionately. The glimmer in his eyes told a beautiful story of heartbreak. He knew the feeling. He once had it too. 

The only difference was that he still had a chance. 

Keith would do anything to dust the bitterness away but it had long settled. Lance’s tone was filled with longing like their conversation was stirring up old, rusted feelings. 

Self-loathing pricked at his skin leaving him red and begging for some kind of release. Keith had a tendency of letting it roam freely. There wasn’t much shielding others from his true self. 

He disregarded all the signs, and the words pierced straight through the surface. It wasn’t for lack of self-control, and his therapist had argued with him for years over his willingness to leave his tendencies unchecked.

“If you have a chance to be with her… to have a family, why not take it?” 

“If only it were that simple,” Lance said, leaning forward and balancing his elbows on his knees.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated!” Keith exclaimed, causing Lance to straighten back up. He wasn’t sure where the urgency was coming from and neither was Lance as evidenced by his shocked expression. Keith scrambled for the words, knowing it wasn’t right to make such a claim without a follow through. “What about your daughter? She deserves a family.”

Lance narrowed his eyes and stood up, wiping a hand down his face. “You don’t think I know that?”

“I’m not implying—“

“Then what are you trying to say? Because it sounds like you’re judging me. Let me tell you something,” Lance started, turning to face him. “When you wanna stop being a brick wall and talk to me about what the hell is going on with you, then maybe we can talk about why I can’t just shack up with Luna and Allura and be a family.”

This was the first time Lance was vocalizing his frustration and Keith was left to juggle the words on this own. 

“I’m not a brick wall,” Keith said under his breath.

“Where the hell is all of this even coming from?!” Lance yelled. His aggravation kept him from hearing Keith’s response.

He didn’t know. All Keith knew was that sometimes there were things about Lance that made him want to flip his skin inside out. Like the way he was so close to Hunk. The way they recklessly hit every surface of the vehicle when they were in the middle of a breakdown. 

The way he had a specific ringtone for every contact and that Keith’s just had to be Christina Aguilera’s _Dirrty_. The way Keith was kind of okay with it because he still carried a copy of her self-titled album in his car.

The way he always had gum. 

The way he confidently used Pidge’s gadgets or busted into their apartment like he was... 

Was what?

What the hell was the end of that sentence? 

Keith was mostly pissed at himself. The way he could visualize Lance answering ‘bae’. He’d wink and blow kisses too. He hated that he knew there was a strong likelihood that could happen.

What were they arguing about?

“Your kid still has both of her parents! Shouldn’t you be fighting to be with her?!” Keith blurted out, lifting himself off the mattress to look Lance in the eyes. 

Lance was thoughtful in the most understated ways. Ways that burrowed and burrowing meant warmth and security. Everything Keith wanted… needed. Everything he was equipped to destroy. 

The point? Keith couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that someone like Lance wasn’t with the family he deserved. 

Lance paused, setting his hands on unsteady shoulders. “I plan on being in Luna’s life for as long as I’m on this goddamn planet,” Keith swallowed loudly. The frustration that circled in their auras threatened to suffocate them both. “Trust me, I've fought. In some ways I still am. I’m exhausted. I can’t be with her, Keith. I’ve accepted that.”

There was something gut-wrenching about hearing the finality underlying his words. Something that was meant to be encouraging. A shove in the direction of ‘letting go’ and ‘moving on’. He felt his gaze drift to the old black and white photographs begging for him to stay in place. To stay in the darkroom. 

“I’m not asking for your life story. I just want…” Lance deflated and kissed his forehead. 

The film would be ruined if he stepped out.

“You can talk to me.” 

Keith’s eyes burned holes into their shoes. He hated how easy it was for Lance to simmer down when all Keith wanted to do was combust and continue his rampage. His tone was the light crash of waves lapping at the shoreline, coaxing Keith to come down from the ledge he balanced on.

“I know this is gonna sound weird, but do you talk to him?” Lance asked and hooked their index fingers together. 

“What?”

Keith watched the corner of his mouth twitch as Lance turned to face the wall of photos. “Do you talk to Shiro?”

It felt as though nerve endings were being seared into a frying pan. His mind couldn’t grasp the fact that someone was asking him that question. Other than sobbing in the driver’s seat of his car, Keith was afraid of mourning Shiro in that way. He was supposed to be over that stage. 

“Not really. It feels pointless.” 

“Do it anyway? It’s not for him it’s for you.” 

He almost felt like a hypocrite for wanting to tell Lance it wasn’t that simple, but he decided he had embarrassed himself enough for one day.

Lance leaned against the drawing table and chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Looks like you have family that’ll fight for you.” He gestured over to a framed family photo on his desk. 

Awkward and unsure of what to say, Keith wished he hadn’t had his little outburst. It was already coming back to mock him. His vulnerability and insecurities were on full display. 

“I’m also not opposed to kicking some ass for you,” Lance said with a wink, standing up and offering an arm for Keith to join. “One of the many perks of dating me. Something to consider.”

“I’ll add it to your dating profile under ‘risky behaviors,’” Keith said, forcing a smile and linking their arms together as they walked out of his room. Lance’s laughter wasn’t enough to rid him of the anxiety overexerting his system.

~***~

The meditative sound of beads dropping into the holes of a wooden board bounced off the walls of the quiet living room. Keith waited his turn as Pidge ran calculations in her head.

“It’s not that serious,” Keith muttered, reaching for his Vanilla Coke. 

“Stop deflecting. You’re losing,” she retorted, making her winning move. She slapped her hands on her thighs and stuck her tongue out before glancing at her watch. 

“Happy birthday, Cheerwine.”

Keith groaned and rolled onto his back. “Not you too.”

Another year, another birthday. 

He tried not to make a big deal of it. He even scheduled a shift at work so that no one would bother him. The Holts were the ones that always had some kind of celebration prepared. He was thankful that at the very least they were considerate of his minimalistic preferences and never went beyond his favorite store-bought cake and a recycled birthday banner. 

Pidge pulled at his arm until he sat up and placed a gift on his lap. “Open it.”

Keith looked down at the poorly wrapped box and smiled at her. He ripped through the paper that didn’t have enough tape, to begin with, and lifted the lid to reveal a box full of paper. 

“Is this one of those things where I have to actively search for the present hidden somewhere because I’m tired and have to be at work early.” Keith dryly stated. 

“You don’t have to be at work until nine, and no, you ass-munch. The stack of paper is your present.” Pidge flippantly clarified. 

“Oh yes, for all my printing needs.” Keith sarcastically commented, receiving a backhanded smack to his bicep. 

“Just look through it already. You’re stressing me out.”

Keith pulled the stack out that looked thoroughly organized with color-coded binder clips and tabs. He flipped through it only seeing a bunch of numbers he didn’t have the current brain capacity to understand. Sensing he wasn’t picking up on it fast enough, Pidge impatiently reached over to reveal the page behind the blank cover page. 

_Hoverbike Project Model No. 117-9875: Systems Operational Code_  
_Galaxy Garrison_  
_Kogane, K., Shirogane, T., & Holt, K. _

__

Keith frowned, instantly recognizing what it was. He placed the code back into the box and crossed his arms. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I told you I would, so I did. I’ve been working on it for a while. It’s all yours now for editing and implementation.” Pidge said, removing her glasses to wipe them on her shirt. 

“Pidge, I don’t know if I want to go back to the Garrison,” Keith admitted, resting his chin on his knees. 

He watched her pinch the bridge of her nose in hopes of staving her aggravation. “You know I’ve been supportive of a lot of things you do, but I can’t let you run away from this. You publish your honors thesis and you’re set for a fully funded doctoral track. This is your project and it deserves to be finished. You deserve to be recognized for it.” 

“It was Shiro’s project.”

“Shiro helped with the grant and logistics, but the rest was all you.”

“We both know he did more than that. It was his vision.”

“It was _your_ vision and _your_ idea. He believed in it enough to support you in every way he could. I did too,” Pidge said and reached over to grab his shoulder before he could attempt to smother her with another excuse. “I obviously can’t force you to go back and finish your last semester, but it would be a shame if you let that all go. The world needs people like you.”

“Did Sam put you up to this?” He deflected, pushing himself onto his feet. Pidge followed, crossing her arms and shaking her head at his stubbornness. 

He didn’t want the world to need him. The world could fuck off. It had already drained the motivation out of him. What more could it want? What more could he offer?

He wasn’t in the mood to argue with her. From the looks of it, she wasn’t either. 

Keith set aside his frustration and pulled her close into a hug, thanking her for the gift before heading to bed. Once safe inside the darkness of his room, he latched onto a pillow and shut his eyes. 

Another birthday without Shiro. 

“I miss you.” 

It was all he could say. It was enough for now. 

Keith knew the day was going to be a pain in his ass when he overslept and realized he had less than thirty minutes to get to work. He kicked the sheets off and rushed through his already short morning routine. 

When he reached the store he threw on a faded purple apron and ran to the back to help his boss prep for the day. The pottery store also provided classes and parties for children and adults. Diet Coke had spewed from Lance’s nose when Keith shared he was teaching one of the children’s classes.

It was weird, but he was strangely good with children. He could level with them. They didn’t require in-depth explanations. It was easier for him to communicate, but most importantly, they didn’t have extreme expectations. 

Somewhere in the distance, his therapist was glaring a hole into his skull. 

He ended up arguing with his boss, Wanda, the entire shift after realizing she had cut it short and scheduled someone else for the afternoon. The shift went by fast when there was a group of six-year-olds attempting to make a pot and ending up with a pile of mush he’d have to shove into the stove and watch as it cracked the way he warned them it would. 

He didn’t care. Their parents would still praise them for a job well done and tip him fifty bucks for enlightening their children with an ‘art experience’ because that’s what the rich liberals of Leon did. 

“Keith, there’s a delivery up front. Can you sign for it before you go?” Wanda yelled to the backroom. 

Keith grumbled as he hung his apron back on its hook and walked toward the front. When he made it to the register he was surprised to find Pidge standing there. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Keith asked, confused and slightly worried. 

Pidge smiled and twisted her arm to present Keith with a giant bouquet of flowers. “Special delivery for Keith!” 

“Since when are you a flower person?” Keith asked. He couldn’t resist digging his nose in to smell. 

“I’m not,” Pidge said, crossing her arms and gesturing at the message attached to the bouquet. Keith opened the envelope to reveal a card with a drawing of a can of Cheerwine on the front. 

This was Lance’s doing. 

_My beautiful, stubborn Scorpio._  
_Welcome to your Birthday Scavenger Hunt Extravaganza._  
_Instead of huffin’ and puffin’ and rollin’ your eyes_  
_I want you to slap a smile on your face like Kool-Aid and have some fun!_

 _Go to the place where your eyes may get glossy._  
_To get your next clue, you’ll have to get saucy. ;)_

Keith closed eyes and exhaled through his nose trying to ground himself before he lost his cool. “Seriously, this guy might be the end of me.”

Pidge hummed and linked their arms together to head out the door. “The things people do when they’re in love.” 

Keith flared his nostrils and cringed. Pidge threw her head back in laughter. 

He cradled the bouquet against his chest, enjoying the smell. There was no denying the gesture touched him. The feeling lingered in a way that stretched when pulled, never quite leaving the surface.

The extravaganza part of Lance’s outlook on life was painfully intimidating. Lance could make a celebration out of not missing the toilet bowl when he pissed in the morning. 

Keith couldn’t keep up.

~***~

The Pit was a restaurant Keith and Lance had discovered on one of their jogs. They were drawn in by its peculiar location and rendition of a pig standing on its hind legs spray painted on the side of the building. The restaurant sat behind a ditch making it look like a moat was protecting it.

A quintessential Southern gem. 

They soon discovered the place had the best barbecue and chicken wings in all of Leon. During their first visit, Keith and Lance had spent two hours stuffing their faces and praising the Lord for the sweet potato fries and homemade ranch. Proof of their euphoria could be found in the form of unflattering photos highlighting their sauce-stained fingers on display near the register.

Keith was greeted by a choir of ‘Happy Birthdays’ from the staff. He wanted to be embarrassed about the fact that the staff already knew him, but the bar was set pretty low. At least it wasn’t Waffle House. A waitress named Tawnya showed him to a table and presented with another bouquet of roses. 

“Lance said you ain’t gettin’ that next clue ’til you finish your food,” Tawnya explained with a fist on her hip, her grin revealed cigarette-stained teeth. 

He tapped his finger to the beat of Shania Twain’s _That Don’t Impress Me Much_ and scrolled through social media while he waited for his food.

Lance had already created his own elaborate post celebrating Keith. The message was accompanied by a photo of Keith on one of their morning jogs. His fingers were laced, supporting the back of his head as he looked out to the mountains. 

Keith recognized where the photo was taken. They had made the split-second decision to go to the mountains for their jog that day. 

His thumb swiped through commands as he made the photo his new profile picture. It was greeted with an immediate appraisal from Lance. He found it strange he wasn’t bombarding his phone with texts.

When the food arrived, he devoured the plate of wings and sipped on the freshly made raspberry limeade. Tawnya returned with an envelope and a to-go cup for his limeade. He opened the note to reveal the next clue while sitting in his truck outside the restaurant. 

_Congratulations, my beautiful, angry seashell._  
_The next clue will be tricky and near the shoreline._  
_The place that’s destroyed diets since 1999!_

He blinked, staring off at the worn down wooden panels on the side of the building. When it finally clicked, he couldn’t help but laugh. 

Keith walked up to beat up food truck whose awning still looked like it was holding on for dear life. The wind had picked up near the beach as the temperatures dropped, yet the owners of La Rompe Dieta were still going strong. Lance had shared that during the winter they’d move closer to downtown but tried to remain near the beach most of the year. 

The woman inside waved him over and started speaking to him in Spanish. His high school skill level could only help him pick out ‘feliz cumpleaños.’

He reached for his phone and started typing in his translation app to ask for the next clue. He looked back up and gnawed his lip. The woman stared down at him with a sympathetic smile. 

“Don’t worry, Keith. I won’t tell him you cheated,” she reassured with a wink. She reached down to grab something as Keith sighed in relief. “Here ya go!”

She handed him a red lollipop and another bouquet of roses. 

“Where’s the clue?” Keith asked looking to see if it was attached to the bouquet. 

The woman leaned down and wiggled a finger in his direction. “En español.”

Keith cursed under his breath and reached back for his phone to look at the translation. He cleared his throat as he attempted to ask for the next clue. He broke the words down into syllables, which the lady was kind enough to string together for him. She wouldn’t allow him to move onto the next word until he successfully pronounced it. 

He ended up standing there for ten minutes trying to ask a simple question. When he finally finished, the woman laughed and reached down to ruffle his bangs. She revealed that the clue wasn’t actually with her and that he’d have to go look for it by the beach. 

When he made it across the rocks to the secluded space where they enjoyed each other’s company that day, Keith spotted a brown bottle similar to the malt drinks Lance had introduced him to. He was careful to set down the bouquet and shook the bottle to reveal the next clue. 

_Congratulations, my beautiful bacalaito._  
_What I wouldn’t give to hear you attempt to speak Spanish._  
_This next clue is somewhere easy._  
_Somewhere we got caught in a crime._  
_I swear we’ll have fun and no interruptions next time! ;)_

He sighed and sat for a bit to finish his lollipop. That first date felt so distant in retrospect. A part of him wished he would’ve acted differently, and the fact that Lance stuck around after was still suspect. He couldn’t understand what Lance was attracted to. His life was a mess on all counts, yet Lance was the type of person who had the obnoxious ability to find a silver lining in just about anything. 

That wasn’t to discount any of Lance’s pitfalls. Sometimes his insecurities would make a scene, and Keith wondered if he’d be strong enough to support him if things ever collapsed. 

When he arrived at the apartment he had been spending entirely too much time at, he found Hunk covered in icing. 

“Keith!” Hunk yelled wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walked over and pulled Keith into a bear hug. “Happy birthday, dude!”

“H-Hey…” Keith awkwardly greeted when the taller man set him back down. “I’m looking for the next clue.”

“Of course you are,” Hunk said with a smile. He walked over to the dining table and handed him yet another bouquet of roses. “These are for you, and Lance said the clue is somewhere in the apartment. That’s all I know.”

Keith held onto the bouquet and threw his head back in feigned despair, “Do you know how many more of these I’m gonna have to find?”

Hunk shrugged. He knew. Keith set the bouquet down and headed to Lance’s room. The room was significantly warmer than the rest of the apartment and smelled of eucalyptus coming from a diffuser on the nightstand. 

On his bed was a box wrapped in shiny, red paper with a white bow on top. Keith inspected it for the clue, but only found a small note from Lance telling him the clue was not there and that he thought the present inside would accent his ‘emo, ripped skinny jeans, and Converse vibe’. He frowned, looking down at his tattered jeans and shoes. When did he become predictable?

He opened the gift to reveal a black long sleeve shirt with a thick red stripe running across the middle. Two smaller white stripes encompassed the red one. The same pattern decorated the ends of the sleeves. Keith shrugged his jacket and t-shirt off and threw the top on. The baggy fit was his favorite part. He walked into Lance’s closet to check himself out in his full-length mirror. 

He kept the shirt on and walked back out to the living room where he flopped on the couch. Where the hell could the clue be? It wasn’t in the kitchen or in the living room or in Lance’s room. He sat back up to tighten his hair tie and paused at a sudden realization.

In the bathroom, Keith found a hair mask sitting on the sink with the clue taped on it. 

_Congratulations, my beautiful man bun. The hair mask is yours btw… :)_  
_Okay, so don’t get mad for this next place is grim._  
_Go to this address and at least get a trim!_

Hunk caught up with him on his way out. “Keith! Before you go, Lance asked me to give these to you. Said they’ll come in handy at the next place.” 

Keith looked down at the stack of notecards on a small binder ring. 

The first one read: Emergency Spanish. 

“How do you say ‘fuck’ in Spanish?” Keith asked with a frown. Hunk laughed and smacked him on the back before heading back to the kitchen.

Keith stood in front of a salon, Tijeritas, and grimaced as he walked in — notecards in hand. He remembered Lance telling him his mother was a hair stylist. Keith felt betrayed. How dare Lance throw him to the wolves? Was he supposed to interact with his mom? He could barely interact with Laura from the food truck. 

“You must be Keith!” A young woman with hair color similar to Cruella de Vil greeted him with a wide grin. Keith nodded, but before he could respond, he felt someone grab him by the arm and spin him away. 

He turned to see the woman who played the keyboards in Lance’s band.

“Nyma,” she answered as if reading his mind. “You’ll be with me for a little while.” 

Keith sat down at her station trying to collect himself because nothing was making sense. He felt her pull his hair tie out and watched his messy hair fall into place. 

Nyma whistled and crossed her arms looking at him in the mirror. “Lance said you had a man bun, but this is quite the mane, Fabio.”

“I don’t want a haircut.” Keith bluntly stated. 

“Well, then we have a problem. Tijeritas has a policy that no client is to leave our chair looking a mess, which is what you look like now,” she bit back and ran a large tooth comb through his hair searching for a decent part. There wasn’t one. 

Nyma was quick to comment on the massive cowlick on the back of his head. “So, here’s what we can do. We can cut a minimum of five inches worth of split ends and fix up those bangs and you’ll look like someone’s dad from the seventies, or we can cut everything off and give you a fresh look. I’m thinking you’d look good with an undercut.”

Keith glared at her in the mirror. Mullets were all he knew until he enrolled at the Garrison. He’d never divulge that Shiro’s ridiculous high and tight haircut had inspired him to cut his own. 

After mulling for a bit and looking through a thousand photos on Pinterest, they settled on a style that didn’t leave either one of them cringing. The bar was low, but he still felt like he had lost the battle. She would be cutting it all off. 

Keith was appreciative of her silence while she washed his hair and massaged his scalp. He almost forgot he was supposed to be angry. 

He heard Nyma laugh a bit but dismissed it as they walked back to her station. He watched intently as she began snipping away at his hair.

It was probably stupid to get worked up about losing his hair, but the bittersweet moment was causing his throat to close up. His hair was the only good thing to come out of his grief. Every now and then Nyma would pause to assess her work and possibly give him a break before continuing. 

“Oh look! A new client!” A woman with wavy light brown hair asked as she approached them. She wore a light blue dress with grey leggings and what looked like gardening shoes.

“Yes, Ms. Lucia. This is Keith.” Nyma introduced, her tone was hesitant. 

“Keat, mucho gusto,” Lucia said extending her hand to properly greet him. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Gustaría un cafecito?”

Keith felt his body temperature crank up. This had to be Lance’s mom. He reached over to the notecards on the stand.

Nyma swatted his hand away. “Coffee.”

“Oh, um, si. That would be nice,” Keith replied, his voice morphed into a whisper. 

“Regreso en un tantito!” 

He had no idea what she was saying and the pitiful look on his face conveyed the message to Nyma.

“Dude, relax,” she said, throwing her scissors down onto her tray. 

“I can’t relax!” Keith blurted out, his eyebrows shot toward his hairline. He reached for the cape wrapped around his neck. “You’re cutting my hair— I’m meeting his mom— She’s… she’s going to get me coffee that I can’t even properly ask for!”

Nyma placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “Hey, I get it. It’s a lot to take in. You’ll be fine. Now, calm down and let me finish. You still got a clue to work for.”

“Here you go, Mr. Keat,” Lucia said in a singsong tone. He briefly wondered if the talent ran in the family. Nyma pushed him back down into the seat and readjusted his cape. 

Lucia offered to pour in the milk and sugar. He tried not to shake with a cup full of boiling coffee in his hands. 

“A ver, qué tienes ahí?” Lucia asked, pointing to his notecards. 

“Emergency español,” Keith muttered into his mug. 

Lucia smiled, “Ese Lance tiene un buen corazón pero don’t worry, Keat. I practice my English with you, you practice Spanish with me.”

Keith was momentarily thrown off by the switch in language. He noticed Lance did it often. It was amusing trying to figure out what Lance was talking about over the phone when he could only pick up the random English words like ‘microwave’ and ‘crap’ that didn’t easily blend with the Spanish. 

At the very least his mom appeared to have a similar sense of humor to her son. However, her sweet, gushy kindness coated his nerves like thick honey making his molars ache. Mommy issues danced center stage. 

She gestured toward his coffee as he took another sip. “Está bien?”

Keith nodded, “Yes, uh, si. Bueno.”

He hated himself. 

“How do you know Lancito?” Lucia asked, kicking a leg over her bouncing knee. 

_Shit. Fuck._

“He’s a friend… amigo?”

The corner of her mouth twitched against the rim of the coffee mug leaving behind a light blush-colored stain. “Amigo, si. Pero something tells me you two aren’t just amiguitos.”

Nyma hummed behind him as he nervously laughed, trying to dig his chin into the cape. His eyes flitted toward the ceiling. Someone would have hell to pay one day. 

A sigh of relief escaped him when the young woman with the strange hair color interrupted the interrogation and whispered something into Lucia's ear. He watched Lucia’s face drop as she stood up to walk toward the front of the salon. Keith observed, confused, as Nyma discreetly moved to get a better look at what was going on. 

“Abu!!” 

The sound of giggles pierced through the roar of hair dryers. Nyma’s expression faltered as she returned to cutting his hair. Lucia’s station in the back was visible from where he sat and Keith watched as she lifted up the little girl into a booster seat in her chair. 

“Is that—“

“Yup.”

A woman who looked like an older version of the young girl sat on a stool Lucia’s assistant had pulled up. 

“And is that—“

“Yup. Don’t look directly at her. Lance and I are convinced she’s psychic.” Nyma instructed, through clenched teeth.

Keith ignored her warning and watched as Allura pointed to Luna’s wild, curly hair. Her fingers brushed against her daughter's forehead who smiled fondly at her. Allura’s movements were calculated and regal. 

“Why does he not want to be with her?” Keith voiced out loud, not recognizing the line being crossed. The question came in the form of a knife that he wanted to use to carve himself out of Lance’s life. 

Nyma scoffed as she pulled out a hair dryer, testing the heat on an open palm, but didn’t respond.

He watched as Allura laughed and played with Luna’s feet that kicked freely off the edge of the seat. She was wearing Vans. 

Allura was an incredibly beautiful woman. Keith couldn't help but stare. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun that looked effortlessly put together with a few strands framing her face. Black skinny jeans hugged her hips and a low-cut, white blouse revealed a simple necklace with a crystal sphere. Perhaps she truly was psychic. A light pink pleather jacket and black, open-toe booties finished her look. 

He picked up on the fact that they were speaking in Spanish. The natural flow of the interaction was mesmerizing. They really were the missing puzzle pieces. 

Lance could have it all. 

“I should go,” Keith said reaching for the cape again.

“We’re not done—“

“No, I need to go. I can’t —“ 

“Whoa, hold on!” Nyma called out, trying not to attract too much attention. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Keith turned to face her, grateful they were blocked by a couple of empty stations. “Do you not see that Lance has everything he needs? Do you not see that he has a family?”

Nyma clenched her fist and jabbed a finger to his chest. “Look, man. You have no idea the shit Lance has been through because of that chick. Believe me when I tell you that she is not what he needs.”

“It’s just—“

“No! You’re gonna sit your ass back down in my chair before I flip shit on you. You’re gonna let me finish, and you’re gonna walk with me to the register so that I can give you the next clue and your cheesy bouquet of flowers because that’s what Lance wants.” Nyma forced out as she dragged him back to her chair. 

They didn’t speak until it was time for Keith to go. He walked up to the front and Nyma handed him his bouquet and the next clue. She stopped him from trying to pay, telling him that it was already taken care of, and followed him out the door.

“Listen,” she said crossing her arms and leaning back against the brick wall. It was best not to look at each other. “Lance really likes you. I haven’t seen him this worked up since… well, her. If you don’t want this, be upfront with him. Don’t waste his time.” 

Keith licked the back of his teeth, “Thanks… for the haircut.”

Nyma rolled her eyes and softly kicked her booted foot against his shin. As she turned to walk back into the salon she paused by the door and shot him a hard glare. “If you hurt him, I’ll find you and shank you.”

She was gone before he had a chance to respond.

Keith sat in his truck with a mound of roses in the passenger seat. He looked into the small mirror on the sun visor. The haircut made him look younger and he was actually relieved with how much lighter it felt. She left it longer in the front so his bangs swooped across his forehead but the rest was short. Not as short as his old undercut when he first started college, but Lance could no longer call him 'man bun'. Keith was already looking forward to the mullet that would grow out over the next few months.

His mind drifted to Nyma’s words and how similar they were to Lance’s. Everyone seemed to be reassuring him but he wasn’t sure he was convinced. He wasn’t sure why he needed reassurance in the first place. 

A part of him wanted to run free alongside Lance but another part kept reminding him that Lance had better opportunities waiting for him in the form of Allura and their daughter. 

Feelings of inadequacy danced around him. Would there ever be a day where he could wake up and feel good enough?

A pattern came to mind. Keith was notorious for pushing away those who ventured too close. Accepting affection wasn’t part of his skill set, so he brushed it all off. Everything was conditional. Everything was timed. Temporary. 

Was it time to reach for the duffle bag? Lance was getting uncomfortably close.

He fought before giving anyone a chance to look inside and ran if anyone got a peek. It would be easier to text Lance and tell him this wasn’t going to work. 

He’d let him down easy. It wasn’t him. It was Keith. It wouldn’t require much to frame himself as the mess and that he would be giving Lance a chance to escape it all. 

Keith cast a glance at the flowers. It would be easier to end it all. 

Shiro wouldn’t want him to do that, but… 

His face fell at the realization that he hadn’t thought about Shiro all day. 

Keith slammed his eyes shut and lightly hit his head on the steering wheel hoping it would rid him of the guilt parading around his conscience. 

It would be easier to end it all… but he didn’t want to.

_Congratulations, my beautiful photographer._  
_See, that wasn’t so bad… I really hope it wasn’t bad._  
_Please text me if someone harassed you._  
_The next place, you’ll find, is right next to Rise._  
_The place where we met, oh, how time flies!_

It was nearing sunset when he reached The Cradle. Somehow the day had flown by and Keith was slowly approaching his limit. He took the steps one at a time, surprised that the venue was opened so early. 

When he walked inside he was greeted by a group of people shouting ‘surprise’. Stunned, he looked around and saw his parents, Pidge, Hunk, Shay, and a few family friends.

Keith was rendered completely speechless. Pidge came up to him and grabbed him by the arm, leading him to the small group. There was a table with his usual birthday cake and a smaller bouquet of roses. The bar was decorated with streamers and balloons. A banner that read ‘Happy Birthday, Cheerwine’ stretched across the stage. 

Colleen walked up to him and pulled him into a hug. “Nice hair, kiddo.”

Sam was right behind him patting his back. The touch triggered an emotional release he didn’t know he needed. His shoulders carried tension and shook as he tightened his grip around Colleen. She whispered encouraging words into his ear, reminding him that he was okay, that she was there. 

There was genuine love in his life. Today wasn’t supposed to be about losses or doubts. It was about Keith. The fact that he was there. He was alive and he had people who genuinely cared about him. People who pushed when it was safe to do so. People that wanted him. 

Why wasn’t that enough? 

He pulled away and wiped his nose as they sang to him. Pidge reached up to place a party hat on his head. The string popped underneath his chin. 

“Gotta make a wish now,” Sam said, gripping his shoulder. 

Keith leaned over the table, his hands stabilizing the weight of his looming body as he looked down at the two number-shaped candles on the cake. 

Twenty-three years his lungs had powered through. In the grand scheme of things he was still a tadpole, but twenty-three years was a long time for a human to be alive. Twenty-three years was a long time to hitchhike alongside trauma and sadness. 

He desperately wanted to kick them out. 

Two years ago he used his birthday wish for Shiro, and it came true. A year later, Keith yelled at his parents for trying to celebrate his birthday when all he wanted was to be with Shiro. He wasn't fortunate enough to have that wish come true. He was hospitalized a few days after. 

So much had changed in the last year.

The highly sobering reminder that Shiro’s death anniversary was fast approaching made his skin crawl and fingers twitch. 

His current wish was still up for grabs. He was yet again faced with a choice. A choice he didn’t want to make for fear that it could change things forever. He didn’t want to seem melodramatic but his track record would reveal a long list of executive function deficits. 

He took a deep breath and blew out the candles. A little bit of melancholy dissipated along with the flames. His family and friends cheered, unaware of the internal war that waged on the inside. 

Pidge came up to him and squeezed him tight, temporary wringing him dry of intrusive thoughts. “Alright, dude. Here’s your final clue!” 

She handed him an envelope. Hunk approached them with the smaller bouquet of flowers. 

_Happy Birthday, my beautiful chocolate chip waffle with a Coke on a side._  
_By now you’ve caught on, I guess that it’s time._  
_This last clue is simple, let’s dine on a dime._

_The place down the street_  
_where my heart skipped a beat._  
_You better get going, I’ll save you a seat! :)_

He wasn’t expecting the energy fueling the power walk that carried his body through downtown Leon. His college-kid instinct urged him to jaywalk across a busy intersection without looking. Shiro never looked, but then again, he’d always been friendly with the macabre. 

His heart rocked out inside. The images in his head clouded his vision. The one where they held hands. The doors. The sounds. People watching as if they were the center of the universe. 

He had once made a choice…

 _I love you, Keith._

_You know I love you too, Shiro, but I can’t do this._

Keith stopped in front of the shitty Waffle House. The gaudy, red paint was patronizing and mocked the faded brick of the run-down theater next door. 

His expression faltered at the sight of brown packing paper lining the windows. The sign on the door indicated it was closed. Waffle House was never closed. He looked around trying to find an explanation as people walked past him. 

He scrambled for his phone when he felt it vibrate in his back pocket and saw a message from Lance telling him the door was open. 

Keith held onto the door handle, glaring at his reflection. Everything fell on him. It always did.

He had once made a choice… 

_I don’t understand. I thought we wanted the same thing._

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

…and it wasn’t the right one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally modeled the way Lance's mother speaks after my own mom who has difficulties pronouncing the "th" sound in English, thus, Keith becomes Keat. It's cute :P
> 
> Also, I'm here for how cheesy Lance is.


	6. And When I Fall, Who's Going To Carry Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH! I live! This was so hard to write. I have like a million versions of this chapter because I couldn't decide which direction I wanted to go. 11.5k words, y'all. Enjoy! Thoughts/comments? Y'all are awesome. Additional notes at the end.

_Taking care of yourself is not selfish, Keith._

_I made the wrong choice._

_In that shit-filled, emotional situation you were able to make a decision that finally put your well-being first. You made an important decision that no one liked, but that doesn’t make it any less valid. You are just as strong and courageous today as you were at twenty-one and at eighteen or at any age. Yes, even when you were that annoying little shit in high school._

_I pay you for this._

_Honey, it’s the best investment you’ll ever make. I wish you could see how amazing you truly are._

_I didn’t get to tell him I wasn’t ready… I just dumped everything else on him._

_He needed to hear everything you dumped on him._

Keith closed his eyes sitting with the memory and the sound of his therapist’s voice who seemed to be his only fan these days. That wasn’t entirely true, but beating himself up was like a second language. He couldn’t help but notice Matt wasn’t at the Cradle with the rest of his family. 

One guilt-ridden memory at a time.

Startled when he felt the door move, he looked up to find Lance standing in front of him. 

“Looked like you needed some help,” Lance said with a smirk and extended his hand.

“Long day,” Keith responded, releasing a deep sigh as he stepped inside.

“I know,” Lance empathized and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I promise that was the last of the clues. I have to admit I was tempted to make more so that people could keep sending me pictures of you smiling.”

Keith chuckled but was momentarily stunned by the warm, orange light emanating from salt lamps. The color coated the walls, softening the stark white paint and scraped the tiles clean of scum. The distinct armpit smell was nowhere to be found. He turned to Lance who shrugged suspiciously and walked over to their booth. He had accomplished quite a feat. Waffle House looked like a sanctuary. 

The bar and back half of the restaurant was blocked off by a long, dark teal tapestry that framed their booth and made the space more intimate. A mix of orange, yellow, and red paper lanterns hung at various heights in front of the tapestry. 

Fairy lights and glass terrariums dangled from the ceiling and their booth was decorated with lights and a colorful array of stones. Rose quartz and carnelian instantly caught his eye. He recognized Pidge’s work anywhere. 

The booth held a special place in Lance’s heart mainly because it was the only one with cushioned seats but also because it was part of the original building’s design. Removing it would have compromised the integrity of the whole structure. ‘Deep, hidden meaning type of shit,’ was how Lance once described it. It also had premium access to the jukebox that sat right behind it.

“This is a lot,” Keith commented as he looked around. He glanced at the stones on the wooden back of the booth, picking up a carnelian stone. “Nice to know Pidge was heavily involved.” He never thought he could consider Waffle House beautiful, but it was apparent they had dabbled in some witchcraft.

“Yeah, couldn’t have done it without her,” Lance casually admitted while messing with the jukebox. He winked at him when _Blue Ain’t Your Color_ came on. 

“Tacky.”

“But cute,” Lance challenged, flashing finger guns in his direction. 

The cracked red pleather that now sported a layer of duct tape creaked under Keith’s weight as they settled into the booth. He was expecting to see their usuals on the table, but instead, he found pancakes next to Lance’s usual.

“I went to that mom-and-pop place you like so much and got your favorite,” Lance explained, pointing to the familiar breakfast platter he loved to the moon and back. 

Keith took a second to soak in every detail. It was quiet and tranquil and nothing like the rest of his day had been. It dawned on him that it was the perfect way to wrap up the evening. Emotions flying about, Keith felt overwhelmed in the best of ways. Lance faced him holding a single rose in his hand.

“Just one?” Keith softly asked. 

“This one should make sixty-four.”

Keith gave him a puzzled look. 

“We’ve known each other for sixty-four days,” Lance clarified. He reached out to tuck a thick part of Keith’s bangs behind his ear. “I gotta say I’m shocked you went short. It looks good. I’m surprised Nyma didn’t go crazy with her clippers.”

Keith smirked and reached up to hold the hand now cupping his cheek. “I wouldn’t let her. Neither one of us were going down without a fight.”

“I’m not going down without a fight.” 

A pregnant pause created distance between them. Bold was like a third language for Lance. Even still, he waited for the punchline. Surely he was joking. Lance’s gaze, however, dove straight into his soul for an answer. There was no way to escape. The choice. He could follow his well-paved path that ended with a quick extraction or he could choose the one with the loose bricks that he’d inevitably trip over. The one that dangled happiness by a stick and offered absolutely no certainties. 

Unable to respond, he turned and reached for a fork. Thankfully, Lance chose not to prod any further and slapped a dollop of butter on his grits. Their interactions were flawlessly natural as they passed each other the condiments they knew they wanted. Their grits drowned in butter and melted cheese. Extra pepper. 

Lance hummed, spoon slipping past his lips with a pop after tasting some of Keith’s grits. “Waffle House grits are better.”

“Say whatever you gotta say to make yourself feel better,” Keith said under his breath as he glazed the top of golden brown chocolate chip pancakes with more butter. Highly aware of the accumulating saliva, he sliced through the fluffy cakes revealing melted chocolate inside. 

Keith sucked syrup off his thumb once he finished his meal and sat back, completely full and satisfied. Legs spread underneath the table, their knees touched. Lance had his arms crossed, supporting the back of his head as he leaned into Keith’s space. 

“Thanks for this,” Keith whispered, crumbling up a napkin. 

“No problem,” Lance responded, dropping his arms and shifting so his back was pressed against the wall. He motioned for Keith to slide in between this legs. Keith accepted the invitation and Lance wrapped his arms around him, pulling him to his chest and resting his chin on top of his head. 

Keith let himself be held, relaxing into the embrace. If he closed his eyes he could pretend his body would one day learn how to remain at peace. For now, he focused on the rose on the table. Thoughts settled down as the sound of Lance’s heartbeat made room for quiet. 

He realized he felt content despite being drained of all energy. A nap would be welcomed with open arms, but something told him he wouldn’t be leaving Waffle House without first talking to Lance about their situation. Violet eyes slowly blinked, taking the time to gather his words before he spoke. 

“I need to be upfront with you,” Keith said in a monotone voice, unable to break away from the hypnotizing pattern of rose petals. He heard Lance hum and run a hand down his back. If he was nervous, Keith couldn’t tell. 

“Okay, shoot.”

“I’m not a brick wall,” Keith stated firmly, lifting his head and alerting Lance he would be sitting back up. Lance adjusted his position and shifted a leg underneath the other. He watched Lance’s expression soften in apology. They maintained their closeness. Keith self-soothed by tracing his index finger across the rubber sole of Lance’s black Vans. “I’m not like you. I can’t tell you everything I’ve been through like it’s some bedtime story. That’s not how I function.” 

“I told you. I’m not asking you to give me a play-by-play of your life,” Lance said, his tone matched the sternness that now hardened his features.

“I think it’s going to be hard for me to be the person you need,” Keith continued, testing out the waters.

Lance frowned, his eyebrows knitted. He wasn’t buying anything. “All I want is to get to know the person I wanna be in a relationship with. I don’t see how that’ll work if you don’t feel comfortable talking to me.”

Words escaped him and his gut felt like a magnet being pulled to whatever metal pieces were holding the booth in place. Everything they had packed into airtight compartments was spilling over and it was a hot mess. Emotions stained their lips. His heart was on the verge of collapsing as Lance paused to search his eyes again. Keith grappled with his body to maintain composure.

“What are you afraid of?”

Instincts lined up awaiting their orders.

“I’m not afraid.” 

He was afraid.

Lance sliced through the tension with a scoff and playfully poked his nose. “I get it. This is a lot, and I talk a lot, and I’m extra and you’re distant and grumpy when you’re uncomfortable. The fact of the matter is we have something, Keith. I know we do.”

His mind was like a sponge soaking up Lance’s words and wringing itself clean of the brutal honesty. The gates swung wide open and he wasn’t strong enough to shut them on his own. They needed to work together. They had been all along no matter how much either one of them downplayed their involvement. 

Keith was never one for grandiose acts of love, but lately, he found himself wanting to be more intentional about the ways he expressed his affection around Lance.

There was no denying all the mornings he woke up with a smile on his face only to find Lance drooling on his pillow. He didn’t mind the drool, knowing Lance was getting the rest he needed. He started leaving fresh coffee for him if he left first and picked up on his self-care routine. The latter had produced interesting results. His face was clear and his cuticles weren’t a disaster zone of peeling skin. 

The moment he noticed a change was when he picked up on something in a storefront that he knew Lance would like. It was an embroidered waffle patch. He stood in front of the store window, yoga mat tucked underneath his sweaty armpit, and stared at it with a prominent scowl on his face. Pidge had backtracked to the spot where he stood frozen after she realized he was no longer walking alongside her.

 _Is it weird that I kinda wanna get this for Lance?_

_It’s weird that you managed to see this while walking by._

_I think it’ll look good on his jacket._

_You should get it._

“I’m not making all this up, right?” 

Keith bit his lip, not realizing how his thoughts had draped a blanket along his shoulders protecting him from the intensity of the situation. Lance’s tone rang through with hints of concern. He couldn’t lie especially when Lance was being so vulnerable. 

“That would kinda suck… I mean I’d survive but it would be rough. Granted, it’s not like we’ve been too serious. Haven’t really been sure how to label us, but it’s been good, right? I think so—.“

“You’re not making any of this up,” Keith reassured before Lance gave himself an embolism. He watched Lance visibly relax and nod contently. Keith pinched the bridge of his nose desperately trying to scrape his heart off the pavement so he could have something decent to offer him. At the core of their dilemma was the fact that he didn’t think he had anything to bring to the table. 

“There’s just so much shit.”

“I know. I have my shit too. We can figure it out together.”

A rush of anger shot up his spine and his nostrils flared. “It’s not that—” He paused knowing this could easily blow up in his face. They had butted heads before and tone had a lot to do with it. Keith was working on getting his point across without having to unload all his frustration at once. He sighed and let it pass. It wasn’t the right time. 

“How can you be so optimistic?” Keith asked, a bit of annoyance trickled through. It didn’t make any sense. Where was he harvesting the energy to be so authentic? He figured there was only so much pain a human could endure before they gave up on silver linings. Before hope dwindled down to a far-off concept that only worthy individuals could comprehend. 

“Allow me to explain,” Lance stated, slamming an open palm on the table reminding Keith of the first time they met. Eyes rolled to the back of his head because, of course, Lance would have an explanation. 

“When I was in middle school, I got hit by a baseball at practice. My parents completely lost it when they saw my busted face and removed me from the team because they didn’t want me getting hurt. I was clumsy as fuck, so every team I joined I ended up leaving.”

Keith tried to stifle his amusement and watched how Lance’s hands always did the storytelling. He proceeded to tell him how it didn’t matter if it was a basketball to the gut or that one time it felt as though his brain moved when a jerk in gym class spiked a volleyball right at his head. He kept going. 

They tried taking him out of swimming, which was the last straw. Lance shook his head and laughed, “Keep in mind, I may as well be a mermaid so their fear of me drowning was a bit over the top.” He idly scratched his temple, lips morphed into a straight line. “When my mom’s pissed at me she tells me that I only see the world through rose-tinted glasses. Honestly, I feel like people don’t do it enough. I don’t like fixating on negative shit. Just holds you back.” 

“That’s weirdly self-aware and mature of you,” Keith said, tapping his knuckles on the table. The words took him back to high school, sitting on a stool by the island listening to Sam’s fresh batch of early morning wisdom. 

_If you get too worried about what could go wrong, you might miss a chance to do something great._

Lance winked at him. “There’s more to me than my stunning good looks and Grammy-worthy voice.”

“Why did you reject your scholarship?” Keith was never one for subtleties once he was in his comfort zone.

Lance paused and pursed his lips, taking his time to digest the question that seemingly came from left field. He waved his hand casually before speaking, “Honestly, I didn’t want to go. I was seventeen and in love. All I wanted at the time was to live this adventurous life and disappear with Allura. Then, Luna was born, and all I could think about was how I was gonna provide for them. College just didn’t seem like the right fit.” 

Keith watched his mouth twist. He was uncomfortable and his story seemed watered down. Who was he to judge?

“Why aren’t you going back to the Garrison?” 

Two really could play that game. The question made him wonder how much time Lance and Pidge actually spent together.

“There’s just too much shit I don’t want to go back to.”

“Like?”

His response was lazy and he knew Lance was testing him. He’d have to do better. “They renamed one of the lecture halls after Shiro. They want me to apply for the same doctoral program he was in. They think that I can be him, but I can’t. I could never keep up.”

 _Fuck._

They were silent for a few seconds while Keith calculated the probability of being struck by lightning while inside a building. He was a meticulously stacked house of cards. One subtle movement and the whole structure came tumbling down. 

Lance stared at him, unconvinced. “Keith, I’ve known you for all of sixty-four days and I can confidently say that you’re not the type of person that needs to keep up with anyone. You bulldoze and trailblaze.” His hand pantomimed a plane taking off. 

“For better or worse,” Keith joked as he shrugged and eyed the streaks of syrup that would soon solidify on his plate. The symbolism mocked him. Lance wasn’t going anywhere. His bright blue eyes delivered his heart’s message. It wasn’t subtle at all.

“Is there anything else you wanna be upfront about?”

Keith wrinkled his nose, “What?”

“We established you aren’t a brick wall, there’s a lot of shit, I’m not making shit up, and you’re a bulldozer. For better or worse. What else?” Lance’s eyes glimmered with anticipation. 

Keith sighed and reached out to take a sip of his Coke. The sugar and caffeine weren’t doing anything to ease his nerves. 

The choice. The choice he contemplated at the door, in his car, and at the salon as he was watched Allura flawlessly exist. 

The guilt was eating him alive leaving him on edge and unable to find the right away to heal. It hurt to admit he had developed feelings for Lance. It hurt even more that he was contemplating ending it all, referencing his old coping mechanisms for support. Lashing out, pushing, denial, completely undermining himself: The perfect ingredients for disaster. Keith knew if he held out Lance would realize that he wasn’t what he needed. 

“Lance, you have a family,” Keith started, he held his breath and set down his cup. “I saw Allura and your daughter at your mom’s salon, and I can’t help but feel like I’m standing in the way of you having the family you deserve. I can’t be the reason you don’t get to be with them.”

When Lance didn’t immediately respond, Keith turned to see his eyes were shut. Lance slipped a hand away from their mess of limbs and ran his knuckles along his jaw as if getting ready to expel something from his soul. 

“Allura and I haven’t spoken in four years,” Lance responded into his fist before opening his eyes. There was something off about his expression. Like he was worried, almost afraid. “The last time we were together we were two seventeen-year-olds with a baby girl. I didn’t know it then, but that was the last time we’d all be together. We never had a chance to be a family.”

“Lance, I’m—

“No, let me finish. I need you to hear this,” Lance urged, reaching for Keith’s hand and squeezing it hard. He gave him penetrating eye contact that rooted them both into the cushioned seat. Keith felt his eye twitched as he forced himself to focus on Lance, watching as his comfort zone dismantled in front of him. “She disappeared when I needed her the most. I used to resent her every day for that, but four years is a long time to hold onto a grudge I had no right to have in the first place. I’ve let go of so much. I’ve allowed myself to move on and now I’m here. We’re here. You’re not keeping me away from anything.” 

“But—“

“No, Keith. I won’t say this again so I need you to understand. You are not keeping me away from my daughter. You are not keeping me away from having a family. Trust me when I say that’s already been taken care of.” 

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. It was obvious there was so much of Lance’s situation with Allura being left in the dark. They were both asking each other to take a leap of faith without really knowing what waited for them at the bottom. Lance lifted one of Keith’s hands and placed it on his chest. This was as transparent as he could be. Keith curled his fingers slightly into the fabric of Lance’s shirt. His heartbeat was strangely steady. 

“This is where I wanna be.”

Oh, this hurt. This hurt like a bitch and he was left to waddle in his self-pity because everyone could see right through his facade. 

“You’re allowed to move on,” Lance added, gently caressing Keith’s cheekbone. There was that weird intuition again. He briefly wondered if Lance had any awareness of the skill. “I know I’m not Shiro but—.“

“I’ve never wanted you to be,” Keith interrupted, his breathy words were quick to silence Lance’s doubt. Anguish pelted down his ribcage like a stone rippling over still waters. The last thing he wanted was to impose his grief on anyone. “Please, don’t think that.”

Lance sighed and dropped his hand into his lap. “Why don’t we give this a chance then?”

Life really had a shit sense of humor. An ironic, shit sense of humor that always poked fun at Keith because here he was again. Feelings out in the open and Keith was left under the spotlight with the big decision to make. 

“She’s getting married to some guy named Prince,” Lance said out of nowhere. Keith lowered his gaze and watched him fidget with the hem of his floral button-down shirt. This was eating away at him. Lance never talked about Allura. “Who the hell names their child Prince?”

Keith rolled his lips together unsure of how to respond. Lance lightly chuckled for him and shook his head. His eyes followed blues ones to the terrarium above them. It housed a fairy garden with a tree made of clay and moss. Two mushrooms sat at the base of the tree. 

It was easy to fixate on how his life felt encapsulated and reduced to minuscule existence. The difficult part was seeing the intricacies that carved their way into his being the same way the tree bore handmade markings. 

Why could he see the beauty in those markings and not his own?

“That relationship is over, Keith.” Lance’s voice guided their attention back down to the booth. “It’s in the past and there’s nothing to go back to because I don’t…” Lance paused as if tasting his words. 

“I love her. I’ll always love her, but I’m not _in love_ with her anymore.” 

How do you fall out of love with someone? Especially someone you held so close to your heart they left a wedge in their absence. Someone you had a child with. Keith was silent as he searched his soul for a response. Perhaps he was the foolish one for believing that love would always prevail, but that’s the only thing he ever knew with Shiro. 

‘We’ll figure it out.’

They set everything aside and only dealt with small things in the moment, which worked for only so long. Soon they were left with a big pile of shit that neither one of them wanted to sift through, clean up, or own up to for that matter. 

It dawned on him that he had nowhere to run. Lance stood casually seeing all of his excuses out the door. A painful thought escaped with a shaky exhale. He still loved Shiro even though there was nothing to go back to. There was literally nothing to go back to. 

“Things are different with you. You make me smile and I enjoy spending time with you,” Lance said, not noticing the panic written across Keith’s face. “After our first date, I knew you’d drive me crazy in the best of ways. You’re beautiful, intelligent, you make me laugh… There are so many things I love about you.”

Love. 

Did… Did Lance love him? The sting in his eyes warned him a blink was past due. 

“I still love Shiro,” Keith blurted out without much thought. It was callous and unprecedented but the truth was always one for grand entrances. His heart was lodged in his throat. “Oh, my God…” He looked straight at Lance whose eyes were wide but he couldn’t tell if that was because he was shocked, confused, upset, or all the above. 

Keith shook his head and let out a shaky breath. Where were his skills? His ears burned as he swallowed the onslaught of emotions waiting to barrel out. His attention shifted to the lanterns in front of them because they seemed less frightening than the living, breathing human capable of judgment sitting next to him. “I’m sorry, that was— I don’t know how to let go. I pushed him away and then he died. He died an hour and thirty-six minutes after I— and I’ve had to live with that…”

It was too much to ask for any of that to make sense. He wasn’t trying to hurt Lance or shoot him down, he just wanted to be as transparent as his broken heart would allow because all he ever knew was how to set aside and ‘deal’. It often left him stiff, robotic, and completely out of tune with other people’s feelings. The only way to expel those feelings was to detonate.

Death by a thousand fuckin’ paper cuts. 

“That’s what I mean when I say there’s so much,” Keith managed to add. His fingers curled into black denim searching for an anchor. Something to keep him from completely losing it because guilt had an agenda and his happiness was the first item on the list. ‘Putting himself out there’ was new, so naturally when it was time to use the skill the only way he could fathom putting it into play was to fling it with a slingshot and hope he didn’t hurt anyone. “I’m not okay. I haven’t been in a long time.”

The silence that Keith had always found comfort in settled between them and was excruciating. Keith closed his eyes in preparation for Lance’s rejection. Who could honestly want him after that?

The warmth from Lance’s hand sliding over his clenched fist sent an entirely different message. One of kindness. One of empathy. 

He curled his lip inward and lifted his gaze to see Lance staring at him with tears staining his cheeks. He quickly swiped them away from under his chin and cleared his throat. 

“You’re doing the best you can,” Lance whispered and lightly ran his fingers along the side of Keith’s face. “Something tells me you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t at least a little okay.” The silver linings. His voice cracked as more tears spilled down his cheeks and Keith found himself never wanting to be the reason Lance shattered into pieces. He pushed his insecurities aside and reached for Lance, pulling him close. “You deserve to be happy…”

“I want to be happy,” Keith admitted, trying his best to save face. Every feeling he had ever repressed was at the forefront of being catapulted and Lance was the unsuspecting target. 

There were no guarantees in life. Time and time again, Keith found that out the hard way, but a part of him wanted to know he could love again and not hate himself. He wanted to know he could say those three words again and not think about Shiro. That he could envision a future with someone else because it was what he deserved.

_Why is it so hard for people to fuckin’ listen to me?!_

_Keith, I’m sorry—_

A part of his problem was that he couldn’t see beyond the mistakes he made in his relationship with Shiro. Another part was that he couldn’t accept he wasn’t the same Keith from two years ago. He wasn’t the exhausted twenty-one-year-old with expectations shackled around his bony ankles. Leaving the skin unattended for so long had left nasty blisters. Worn down, he had reached a point where he couldn’t recognize the person in the mirror.

Things were different. There was hope. He was every bit as important as the Keith Kogane the Garrison had perfectly engineered. 

Grief had taken many forms in his life. He no longer hoped to find his mother. For all he knew, his father didn’t exist. Survival had ripped his childhood away from him. Then, to rub salt in the wound, Shiro died. Sometimes he felt he had no reason to believe it would get better. How many hoops did God intend on having him jump through before he found his prize?

Keith slowly pulled away and cupped Lance’s face. Deciding to go against all of his inclinations handcrafted by abandonment, he gave himself a chance. Someone had to have faith, and it was about time that person was Keith. The words left him before old habits could screen them out. 

“I’m not opposed to kicking some ass for you.”

The smile that burst through the tears and sounds of stuffy noses was one of understanding. Lance chuckled at the reference. “I don’t know what it is about his goddamn restaurant that always leaves me feeling some type of way,” Lance tried deflecting, wiping his nose with his sleeve. Keith let himself laugh because there was no telling how many stupid, emotional tales were written on the walls of the shitty Waffle House in the middle of shitty Leon. 

Their story was now one of them, and it was fitting. The thought was oddly comforting. 

They slid out of the booth, but Lance reached out for his wrist and brought him back in for another hug. Their souls needed nurturing. 

“It’s going to take some time…” Keith murmured, unable to completely disown his suffering. The journey would be a long one. One a relationship couldn’t fix.

“I’ll be there whenever you need me.”

Keith sighed in relief. Lance moved and lightly pressed their lips together. It morphed into something deeper as they flooded each other with every single feeling they tried to mask. 

The fire that ignited in his veins tore through all of his doubts and fears because all he wanted was to be able to reach. To touch. To feel again. His thoughts drifted and he didn’t mind getting lost as their tongues brushed against one another. 

Opening up to Lance was a gut reaction. The risk Pidge had alluded to so long ago. An ode to an even stronger version of himself that was yet to come. One that recognized he didn’t have to muster through life alone. One that integrated all the broken pieces. 

A soft moan escaped him as Lance slipped a hand underneath his shirt. His body pressed forward craving the sensation. His fingers made their way to the back of Lance’s head, some caressed the nape of his neck while the others nestled into wavy, brown hair. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want this to end, so he kissed Lance like there wasn’t enough time left in the world. 

Keith pouted as Lance cupped his face and slowly pulled away. A sharp inhale shook his shoulders. He reached up and swiped his thumb across Lance’s bottom lip. They both took a moment to allow laughter to soothe their nerves. They couldn’t erase the grins off their faces no matter how hard they tried. 

“I think I kinda like you,” Keith finally said, pressing their foreheads together. He snuck in another kiss.

That perfect, boyish smile that made his toes curl had him feeling like they could do anything. They could conquer worlds. Lance tapped the tip of his nose with his index finger bringing him back down to Earth. “I kinda like you too, boyfriend.”

“That didn’t take long,” Keith said, a rush of heat shot straight to his cheeks. He stepped back a bit as it dawned on him that they had just made out in the middle of a Waffle House. 

“Trust me,” Lance said, slamming his fists on his hips. “I’m gonna be yelling about this for a while.”

Keith hummed in amusement and laced their fingers as they made their way to the door. “Speaking of yelling, remind me to yell and throw things at you for making me meet your mom and thinking I could survive with a stack of notecards.”

“Aww, our first fight as boyfriends,” Lance said, placing a kiss on his temple. He was completely content. “I can’t wait.” 

They paused when a voice from behind them swiftly kicked their asses off cloud nine. “I _know_ you two lovebirds ain’t walkin’ outta here without helping us clean,” Mango said with her arms tightly crossed over her chest. 

Lance sheepishly smiled and shot Keith an apologetic look, “Meet you at the Cradle? Your people were planning on staying for drinks.”

“I can help—

“Nope! Go have fun, birthday boy. I’ll see you in a few.”

Keith smiled and nodded before heading back to his family. He ended up throwing a chunk of his cake at Lance as promised. Lance, covered in whipped cream and strawberry sauce, rushed him and flung him over his shoulder with unprecedented strength. Keith couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed that familiar ache in this ribs from laughing so hard. 

They ended the evening at Lance’s apartment. Keith stretched out on Lance’s bed, legs up against the wall. Lance sat next to him in navy basketball shorts, guitar in hand. Fingers strummed softly on weathered strings as he serenaded Keith with Christina Aguilera’s _I Turn To You_. Eyes closed, Keith smiled and occasionally added back up vocals before finally drifting off.

_I need to know you’re going to be okay, Keith…_

~***~

   
A week into exclusivity and Keith found himself empathizing with Red’s tailpipe. Being dragged around by a boyfriend who couldn’t keep still had him setting up boundaries left and right.

In a week they had gone to two concerts, two trips to Waffle House, a Halloween party, and he had spent over three hours in a beauty supply store. If anything, it was a testament to his ever-growing patience. That, or maybe the kids at work and his new boyfriend were wearing him down. Maybe he was turning into Shiro. The dark thought left him feeling uneasy. 

One of the concerts was an impromptu Panic We’re Hispanic show Lance booked at a 90’s themed party. The band had informally hired him as their photographer. He enjoyed when they played mostly because he got to keep to himself and had complete artistic license to tinker around with his camera settings. Lance didn’t know shit about photography and could put a positive spin on a blurry photo. Keith refused payment, but that didn’t stop Lance from slipping money into his wallet. 

The Halloween party had taken the most out of him. Lance had dragged Keith and Pidge to Nyma’s place for a music video themed costume party. Lance was dressed up as a Spanish trap artist… something about a bunny. He looked like a complete idiot with a bandana wrapped around his head, overalls, and vintage _Arthur_ t-shirt. _Arthur_. The kid’s show. 

Total douche galore. His pride and joy. 

Nyma, dressed minimally in caution tape emanating Lady Gaga from her _Telephone_ music video, kept trying to get him to do shots all night long. 

“Oh my God, you’re the guy from My Chemical Romance!” She yelled for the tenth time in his ear. The music was disruptively loud. Her breath smelled of straight tequila. Keith nodded for the tenth time as he sat and sipped on some Coke. 

He tried to have a conversation with some guy named Slav, who apparently was dating Sven, who freaked Keith out. He looked eerily familiar and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The conversation was mostly one-sided. Hunk ended up saving him before Slav got too far into his theories on alternate realities.

“How ya holdin’ up, Cheerwine?” Hunk asked as he swirled his drink in a yellow plastic cup. They both leaned against the kitchen counter. He was dressed as the Compu Nerd from Mariah Carey’s _Touch My Body_. 

“I think I want to leave soon,” Keith replied, crunching loudly on ice.

He watched Hunk lean forward and followed his view to Lance who was dancing with Pidge and two other girls. They were tag teaming to see if they could get Pidge a date. “I think I second that notion. We can’t let Lance get Phase Three drunk.”

“There are phases?”

“Oh yeah. What you witnessed at Waffle House was late Phase One, early Phase Two. Phase One involves a lot of crying, telling everyone how much he loves them, and how everything is beautiful. The end of Phase One is marked by dramatic monologues or song renditions. Whitney Houston is his go-to. Phase Two, he’s pissed maybe twice and starts getting extremely hot. That’s where the stripping comes into play. He can’t strip without dancing. Phase Two ends with twerking, lap dances, and making out with anyone who wants him.” 

Hunk laughed and took another sip of his drink, “Phase Three is the worst though. Phase Three starts off hyped. He’ll start lifting furniture for no reason. Bare minimum, he’s lost one item of clothing as per Phase Two requirements. Unchecked, he’ll start going downhill pretty fast. You’ll notice because he’ll start spilling his drinks and his attempts to dance usually leave him on the floor. He’ll forget how to walk and will lie down on any surface claiming he can’t move. Regardless of where we are or how drunk he is, he refuses to go to bed without showering. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found him pass out in the shower. Dude’s a mess, but you gotta admire his dedication to hygiene.” 

It was then he realized there was nothing fun about watching people get belligerently drunk. It was time to go.

“That party ended too fast. I wasn’t done dancing,” Lance slurred as he slumped against Keith. His bandana was now loosely wrapped around his neck. His cheeks were tinted pink and he had silly string tangled in his hair. 

Pidge, who was swung over Hunk’s shoulder like a bag of Idaho’s finest, pointed an accusing finger at Keith. “I wasn’t done making out.” 

“Let her make out!” Lance yelled and pumped a fist in the air, ready to lead the rebellion. Keith rolled his eyes and grabbed onto one of the straps of Lance’s overalls before he flew off the stairs.

Pidge stretched out her arms and reached for Lance. “C’mere you perfect specimen!”

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” Lance asked, tears already streaming down his face. Phase One. They had left right on time. “Like, you… you’re the best.” 

Pidge wiped her nose and wrapped her arms around his shoulders pulling him close, causing a shift in their balance. “You… you the best. Lance, you have to promise me…”

“Anything. You say the word and I’ll—

“You have to take care of my man, Keith. You have to promise because he’s my Keith. He’s my brother friend.” She burped loudly in his face making Keith cringe. 

“Are you saying I can’t take care of Keith?”

“I’m starting to think I’m too old for this,” Hunk muttered as he slowed down and took the steps one at a time.

“You’re not listening, man. You… you take care of him!”

“I don’t need anyone taking care of me,” Keith interjected, walking closely behind Lance. It was a moot point. They were talking at each other.

“I fuckin’ promise. I swear to you. I swear to you on Camila that I promise. You don’t even know. You don’t even know, Pidge.” He poked the words into her forehead to emphasize his point. 

“Christ on a stick,” Hunk muttered in frustration, coming to a complete stop. “Keith, a little help here? He’s trying to get onto my back.” 

That was week one. 

Week two was mellower and Keith wasn’t entirely sure why. He was inclined to blame the weather. Lance had been a little distant and chopped it up to work. Keith had found him multiple times arguing over the phone on his porch but he never pressed for details.

After a couple inches of rain had left Leon in peril, they decided to explore all the mud-slick construction sites and backwoods to find the perfect spot to go off-roading. Keith learned how to drive when he was thirteen and had always loved it. His foster dad had taught him how to drive stick, and one of his favorite memories with that particular family was joining them on mudding excursions. 

There was nothing like the thrill of watching mud fly everywhere while flopping around in the front seat. Keith looked forward to maneuvering their way out all the ditches. There was a science to it that left him biting his lip in anticipation.

Red’s driver’s seat had seen better days, but she still made him beam with pride. Lance, on the other hand, cringed at all the warning lights. “Dude, this might be Red’s final run in the mud.”

Keith sucked his teeth and ran his hand along the dash. “She’ll be alright. I’m honestly more worried about you being at the helm.”

“Ho-kay, Keith. I’ve been working on cars since before I could even read. I think I know how to handle this antique,” Lance boasted, pointing a thumb to his chest. Keith looked over when Lance’s phone vibrated against the air vent. He managed to catch the name ‘Coran’. Lance snatched the phone from the car mount and silenced the incoming call. 

“Let’s get some tunes going,” Lance said under his breath as he tinkered with his phone. Keith turned and looked out the window. When would be the appropriate time to ask him about it? He’d have to ask his therapist. He had emailed her three times since they started dating. 

Blake Shelton’s _Boys ‘Round Here_ blasted through the stereo and Keith begged his eardrums to burst. Lance looked over at him and laughed loudly as he hit the steering wheel to the beat of the song. His voice, a thicker country accent than Keith was used to hearing, overpowered all the other noise in the truck. 

_Talkin' 'bout girls, talkin' 'bout trucks_  
_Runnin' them red dirt roads out, kicking up dust_

Lance revved the engine a few times exposing a number of Red’s internal issues. Smoke curled its way out from under the hood. He shifted gears and slammed his foot down on the gas causing old tires to launch them straight for their first ditch. 

Lance threw his head back and howled in excitement. “Razzle dazzle, baby!” 

All Keith could do was grit his teeth, but inside he was ablaze like a night sky full of fireworks. This was his Disney World. He loved the sound of the engine roaring, the nerve-wrecking feeling of old tires articulating on wet ground. 

Some (read: parents) would say this ‘reckless, impulsive behavior’ wasn’t conducive to his healing process while others (read: therapist) would say this ‘reckless, impulsive behavior’ could actually be helpful if handled within acceptable boundaries. Whatever the fuck that meant. 

It was fine. He was forcing it to be fine because he refused to have the accident take anything else from him. Keith waited for trauma to call his bluff. 

It didn’t take long for them to get stuck. Keith cranked the window down to assess their situation. Mud oozed down the inside of the door. “You’re gonna have to back up and gun it,” he said chomping loudly on his gum. All he needed was a pack of sunflower seeds and he’d be set. He balanced himself on the door with both elbows and analyzed the ditch. It was going to take them a while. Red was in no shape to handle the terrain. 

Without warning, Lance threw Red in reverse causing mud to fly up and slap Keith in the face. 

“Fuckin’ shit, Lance!”

Lance laughed and switched between reverse and drive until they were finally able to power through. He then proceeded to drive wildly through some grass claiming he was cleaning the tires. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” Keith shouted as he tried rolling the window back up to protect his face from whatever particles were making their way in.

“Hold onto ya britches, Cheerwine!” Lance yelled back. “Let’s see what this grandma can do!” His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he swerved and ran over a hole. Keith felt the remnants of his breakfast threatening their way out as he leaned over to try and close the glove compartment that flew open. Drifting in a beat up truck was ill-advised.

“You. Are the worst. Driver. Ever!”

The seatbelt tightened around his body as they bounced in their seats. Keith reached up to the _Oh, Shit_ handle to stabilize himself. Through a clear patch on his side of the windshield, he could see they were fast approaching another muddy ditch. 

“Go for it!” Keith commanded. Adrenaline had taken over kicking self-control out the window and making way for his inhibitions to run wild. The best kind of high.

“Are you insane?!” Lance questioned, smoothly turning the steering wheel with one hand.

“Back up and get some distance,” Keith instructed, throwing an arm around the driver’s seat to get a better look through the back window. “You’ll need to go fast.”

Lance reached for the gearshift and bit his lip. “You’re lucky if she hits forty-five. We should take this one slow.”

Keith huffed as Lance came to a stop. “Switch with me.”

“What?”

“Just switch with me. I know what I’m doing.” Keith reassured as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He climbed over onto Lance’s lap and frenziedly kissed him. Lance shifted underneath him, caught off guard. Keith moaned as his tongue pushed past Lance’s lips, adding an extra layer of madness. 

His hands held Lance’s head in place who half-attempted to wiggle out from the seatbelt. Keith’s ass pushed up against the steering wheel causing the horn to go off.

Laughter burst from both of them, ending their kiss. A small line of spit connected their lips before Keith broke contact. He reached up to wipe some mud off Lance’s face. 

“Shit, man… If I’d known muddin’ was the way to your heart we could’ve done this a long ass time ago,” Lance said, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. Keith triumphantly smiled at the fact that he was a little out of breath. 

They maneuvered around until Keith sat in the driver’s seat, clamping his hands around the steering wheel. His limbs were tingling. “Alright. Let me show you how it’s done,” he said with a confident smirk. Lance didn’t look convinced. 

“Keith, I don’t think—”

“You’re gonna have to trust me, okay?” Keith firmly stated, staring right at him. He effortlessly shifted between gears trying to build up speed. Dirt, grass, and loose rocks pelted the side of the vehicle as they barreled over patches of wet earth. His hands were in control the whole time. 

There was no telling what would happen, but that was part of the thrill. They hadn’t assessed the depth of the water and there was a small hill they more than likely wouldn’t get over. He didn’t care. He just knew he wanted to go for it. His lower lip curled inward in excitement as they approached the ditch. Excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Red screeched the faster she went: a cry for help.

Keith’s shoulders tensed and all he could think about was the sheer happiness fueling the moment. Muddy water slapped Red’s faded exterior as the tires tumbled over small ruts. The ditch was getting closer and closer. 

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no!” Lance yelled, reaching over to grab Keith’s shirt to hold onto. 

Time stood still and he paused, taking in the moment in all its glory. There were no sounds just particles colliding in the air. The rush channeled through his body and he held onto it with everything he had. 

He felt himself breathe. It didn’t hurt as much. 

He felt alive. 

Red’s wheels spun rapidly underneath barely latching onto the sludgy surface once they hit the water. Lance’s screech pierced through his zen-like state causing him to come to a full stop. They both flung forward when he slammed on the brakes. Red was stuck in an awkward position as the speed allowed them to partially make it up the hill. He turned the steering wheel and tried to back up, startling Lance when the front of the vehicle unceremoniously landed back into the water. 

“Well, there goes your brake system, suspension, and more than likely your engine,” Lance said, dragging a hand down his face. It was a little pale. 

Keith’s heart was pounding in his veins. He threw Red into park and unbuckled his seatbelt. 

“I don’t think we’re getting out of this one, my man. Let’s call Hun—“

Lance turned to him as Keith climbed over to the back seat. 

“What are you—“

Keith ripped the headrest off from where Lance sat and reached for his broad shoulders. His mouth went straight for Lance’s neck as his fingers clawed the front of his t-shirt. “I want you,” he murmured into soft skin. Keith hooked his arms under Lance’s armpits and lifted him over the seat. 

They both laughed when Lance fell backward onto Keith’s chest. His feet were pressed against the ceiling. Lance was quick to flip their position and straddled Keith’s lap. One hand on the back of the seat the other on Keith’s chest holding him in place.

“I want you too, you have no fuckin’ idea. I —“

“Shut up and take your pants off,” Keith ordered, lifting his shirt to wipe his face. He stopped to watch as Lance hastily pulled his t-shirt over his head and used it to wipe the mud off his own face and arms. The slap of soggy fabric on the back window was loud, leaving behind a thick brown trail.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Keith reminded him, trying to shove down his joggers. 

“I am.”

“Wha— Where?”

“Down on you, baby,” Lance replied with a wink, pushing his pants down to his ankles to reveal red boxer briefs. 

Laughter beat out any potential witty comment, but Lance silenced it all with a kiss. Months of pent up sexual frustration sweetened their kiss, blemished their lips, and rubbed their skin raw.

“You look good in red.” Keith managed to say between kisses. 

He felt Lance smile against his lips. “I know.” 

Keith moaned into their kiss and dragged his nails down his biceps. They settled in as best as they could despite being too tall to comfortably sprawl out in the back seat. Keith craned his neck as Lance worked his way down his throat. He sucked on the skin at the base of his neck until it turned bright red. 

Trembling fingers rushed down his torso to the elastic band of his boxer briefs. Keith arched his back and snaked his hand around Lance’s waist shamelessly vocalizing his desperation through loud moans as their bodies moved in unison. Why were they still wearing their underwear?

A low growl escaped him when Lance pushed down the front of his boxer briefs, reading his mind. Keith quickly followed suit not wanting to miss a beat. He sucked in a breath as Lance teased him, trailing kisses down his torso at an agonizingly slow pace. 

His navel dipped at the sensation. It was surreal this was even happening and in his car of all places. The sound of country music playing in the background didn’t add to the ambiance but Keith’s mind couldn’t focus worth a damn on anything negative. There was nothing wrong about the direction Lance’s mouth was headed. His breath hitched the closer Lance got and his toes curled in anticipation. Keith all but snapped his hips forward to encourage Lance to hurry the fuck up. 

Lance looked up at him and flashed him a grin, “Impatient, are we?”

“Lance,” Keith warned, throwing his head back as Lance playfully sucked on the soft skin of his inner thigh. “Fuck… just—

A sharp rumble shook through the entire truck and Lance paused in between Keith’s pale legs and cocked an eyebrow. A loud sputtering noise caused Keith to shoot straight up as Red shut off. Lance sat back, mouth hanging slightly open. Their gazes pierced straight through the windshield before returning to one another.

Lance pressed his lips together in a tight line and nodded. “Sounds about right. Honestly, I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did.”

Keith knitted his eyebrows in worry and pulled his boxer briefs back up. So much for that idea. He leaned forward, pants pooling at his ankles, to inspect what was wrong. “Maybe she’s just out of gas.”

“ _Nice_ ,” Lance commented on view and joined Keith, who was draped over the front seat fiddling the key in the ignition. “She was at a little over half a tank when we got here. No way she’s out.”

“I don’t understand…” Keith murmured as he slammed a hand down on the dash. Exasperated, he sat back and crossed his arms. His leg bounced in aggravation and he pinched the bridge of his nose trying not to focus on the fact that he was still horribly turned on. 

“Keith, you rammed her into a ditch.” Lance blatantly reminded him as he sat back down. His thumbs tapped away on his phone. “Texted Hunk our location. We’re gonna have to get towed out.” 

Keith took a deep breath trying to settle down all the mixed emotions raving inside of him and bounced his knees back and forth. 

“So do you wanna—“

“No.”

“We do have time to kill now. The body heat is gonna come in handy too.” Lance rationalized, obviously not ready to give up on the idea any time soon. Keith pulled his joggers over his hips and frowned. 

“No.”

“Well, just so you know. I have a sex jams station,” Lance said, tapping his phone on an open palm and winked at him. “For next time.” 

Keith scoffed and shoved him hard into the door. Lance snickered and caught his arm, pulling him close. He knew Lance was trying to get his mind off of the fact that his car may have just called it quits. 

Over an hour went by and still no Hunk. Keith’s head poked out from under a blanket they procured from his trunk. They lowered the back seat to better accommodate their long limbs. Lance had one headphone in and rested his head on a bent arm. They couldn’t stop shivering. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting some hardcore _Titanic_ vibes,” Lance shared through chattering teeth. 

Keith shot him a glare, effectively conveying his disappointment and making Lance laugh. He rolled onto his side and Lance followed, throwing a leg over his hip. Keith kissed the top of his head as a shiver shot up his spine. They needed a distraction. 

“What kind of adventures did you wanna go on with Allura?” 

Lance groaned into Keith’s chest. “Well, it’s safe to say my boner’s gone.”

He chuckled and ran his fingers through Lance’s hair. It was strange not seeing it styled. “I’m just curious is all.”

“We had a lot of stupid dreams. We wanted to travel, go to shows. There was a brief period of time where we wanted to run away and join the circus. Basically, we wanted to be hippies. We also had this dream of living off the grid.”

“None of that sounds stupid,” Keith reassured, continuing to caress his head. “I’ve always wanted to live off the grid. Like in a shack in the middle of a desert.”

He smiled as Lance rubbed his face into the soft material of his shirt. “I can definitely see you being Hermit Keith of the Painted Desert. I bet you’ll collect cacti and befriend rattlesnakes.” 

“Sounds perfect.”

“I don’t know if I can live in a desert. I need access to the beach and I love the rain too much.”

“We’ll compromise…” 

Lance hummed as his fingers trailed down Keith’s ribcage. “Compromise.”

“That scare you?” Keith asked, knowing the answer full and well. He got a kick out of making Lance nervous and uncomfortable. 

“It’s a sad day for boners. That’s all I gotta say.”

When Hunk finally rolled up, Keith felt as though they aged a lifetime. Lance hadn’t spoken in a while. That definitely wasn’t a good sign. The popping sound of brittle bones echoed around the vehicle as he sat up. Lance slowly lifted his head and reached up to pop the back window open. Hunk rolled the passenger window down to reveal Pidge grinning at them. 

“Hey, losers!” She greeted with a wave.

Lance growled and flicked them off. “What the fuck took you so fuckin’ long? I can’t feel my legs. Do you know what cold weather does to someone like me?”

“Makes you a wrinkly bitch?” Pidge offered. 

“Guys, shut up!” Keith yelled. He was beyond aggravated and not in the mood for their bullshit. “Hunk, what do you need?”

“Don’t worry, Keith! Lance’s uncle is coming to tow her. Y’all can ride back with us.”

Keith felt his stomach sink, “We’re leaving her here?”

“If my uncle’s coming, what the fuck were you doing that it took you over an hour to get here?!” Lance yelled, angrily tying his shoelaces. 

“Sorry guys! I was grocery shopping when I got your text, then picked up Pidge who wanted to grab a quick bite.” Hunk yelled from inside the truck. 

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Holt! You, me, parking lot when we get home! I’m gonna make you eat gravel.”

“Let’s scrap, mofo!” She yelled back.

Hunk turned the truck around so Keith and Lance could climb into the bed and avoid trudging through all the mud. Keith frowned and stared at Red as they drove away. There was no way she wouldn’t make it. A dreadful feeling of ‘what if’ washed over him and left him numb.

~***~

   
It was a terminal case. Lance’s uncle offered the diagnosis a couple days later. Water had gotten into her air intake which had locked up the engine. Apparently, she was already on her way to a blown head gasket aka ‘sell for scraps’.

The four of them stood behind the shop and stared at Red. They were planning on dismantling her sometime that week. Lance requested to be assigned to the job knowing it would ease Keith’s nerves about the whole situation. 

“I feel like we’ve been here one too many times,” Hunk lamented in a low voice. He lightly elbowed Lance in the ribs. “Remember the Sex Wagon?”

Pidge clamped her eyes shut. “What.”

“Yes, that was tragic,” Lance added in acknowledgment. “The Sex Wagon was the car the McClain children at one point all drove and defiled with their adolescent and young adulthood conquests. It was also known for its stereo system.”

Hunk shook his head, pressing his fist to his mouth to contain his emotions. “That was one bitchin’ stereo. Wasn’t it a Ford Escape?”

Lance nodded, wiping a faux tear from his cheek. Keith sharply inhaled to dispel the urge to throw something. 

“Well, at least Red died with some dignity,” Pidge added, stepping forward to tap the roof twice.

Keith narrowed his eyes when Lance snorted beside him. Pidge eyed them suspiciously and stepped back into the straight line they formed. He didn’t have any words. There were so many precious memories, it pained him to say goodbye.

His gaze flitted down to the dusty, gasoline tank at his feet. He popped the lid off the spout and extended his arm. Gasoline splattered on the ground as they held a moment of silence to pay their respects.

“Rest in paradise, Red,” Lance whispered and crossed himself. 

“So, any idea what kind of car you’re getting next?” Hunk asked, dragging his foot along the dirt. 

“Hunk, we _just_ said goodbye!” Lance sneered and crossed his arms. It didn’t take long for him to jump on board. “If you’re taking suggestions you should get a Jeep. Embrace the Garrison-military vibe and knock the doors off.”

“Oooh, yes. It would be perfect for off-roading. Jeeps already come with roll cages. You can add door nets and maybe get waterproof interior so you can hose it down,” Hunk added, rubbing his chin in contemplation.

“Get a snorkel to avoid killing it,” Lance continued. 

“Three-and-a-half inch lift kit. Thirty-seven-inch tires. Easy.”

“Paint it matte black. Maybe a light bar. LED headlights.”

“Headlight cages and a tow hitch light.”

Lance perked up beside him. “The Jeep tire cover with the smiley face that has an American flag wrapped around its head!”

“Aftermarket horn!” Hunk yelled. 

“That sounds like an air horn!” Lance yelled back. 

“He already has a car,” Pidge interjected, a bit of annoyance in her tone. She had been in quite the scathing mood lately. He couldn’t blame her though. Everyone he knew was a bit on edge as they neared Shiro’s death anniversary. “It’s been sitting outside the apartment for eons.” 

Keith’s glare shifted to the left. She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, challenging him to say otherwise.

“Pidge.” His tone advised her to drop the subject, but the damage had already been done. 

Hunk scanned the sky as if trying to map out the parking lot in the clouds. His eyes lit up in surprise, staring straight into their mud-streaked reflections. “You’re the owner of the mysterious black Tesla! The one that never moves. The one Red was always parked next to.” 

Keith gnarled at his bottom lip hating how impeccably fast Hunk’s brain functioned. It didn’t take long for Lance to break formation and stand in front of his best friend, mouth opened wide and hands pressed against his cheeks. 

“Oh my God, Hunk, you beautiful genius. Fuck the Jeep. My boyfriend has a _Tesla_!” Lance all but squealed as they held hands and swung their arms from side to side in excitement. “The Tesla we’ve been fangirling over belongs to _my boyfriend_!”

Instantly, Keith about-faced and marched his way back to Pidge’s car. He wasn’t going to deal with this. It was bad enough he was leaving Red in a scrap yard to be ripped to pieces. He didn’t need them completely dismissing him as if he wasn’t even there. Besides, it wasn’t his car. 

The locks dropped into place as he fumed in the passenger seat. Lance approached the vehicle, an apologetic look written on his face. 

“Is this one of those things where you ignore me for a week and tell me it’s because you’re sick?” He asked, his voice muffled and forehead pressed against the window. 

Keith cut him a cold glare that could freeze hell over and gave no response. His expression alone spoke a thousand insults.

When they got home, Keith slammed the car door and continued his crusade up the stairs. Pidge sprinted to catch up. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean to throw you under the bus back there—

“Oh, _really_?” He asked, pausing at the door and fidgeting with his keys. “It sure as hell felt like you were happily driving the fuckin’ bus and dragging my body around the block.”

Pidge frowned, not appreciating the sarcasm. He angrily growled, frustration seeping through as he couldn’t find their apartment key in the mess of grocery store and pharmacy key tags. Fed up with his childishness, Pidge snatched them from his hand and immediately found the key. 

They burst into the apartment like a force to be reckoned with. They were both known for their temper flare-ups and bad attitudes. The tension had been building up over the week. 

Pidge unlaced her shoes and kicked them off at the door, following him down the hall. “You know I’m really fed up with your bullshit attitude, Keith. You’ve been avoiding everything having to do with Shiro and it’s about time you owned up to your shit.”

“Well, since you seem to know everything, why don’t you tell me how to resolve this issue?” He knew he was being a pain in the ass. As the last bit of resolve disappeared, pettiness was all that remained. 

“You can start by doing something about that car. Use it, get rid of it, do something, Keith! All I know is that ignoring shit isn’t working anymore.”

Irritated by her insinuation that he needed to grieve and heal in more acceptable ways, Keith stared her down in front of his room. The scowl on his face wouldn’t leave for days. 

“How about I start with this?” 

The door slam was his final answer and he heard her groan loudly calling him an ‘immature punk’ and slamming her own door. He huffed and threw his jacket on the floor picking his phone out from the pocket. An apologetic text from Lance was already waiting. He walked over to his closet and sat down on the carpeted floor in front of a small, plastic tote full of photographs. 

He forced himself to look through until the floor was covered with images from his past. He looked down at the one in his hand. It was from his freshmen year of college. A giant grin revealed his clear-banded braces. His arms were wrapped around Shiro’s shoulders whose bare torso was painted with the off-grey, orange, and yellow Garrison logo. Their second date was at a football stadium surrounded by thousands of angry Garrison and Volt fans. 

He was never a big sports fan, but it was Shiro’s idea. He didn’t want to admit he’d rather have it somewhere else; that was just how they worked. Over-empathizing to the point where they’d sacrifice their own comfort for the other’s sake. A pattern that would later blow up in their faces.

Keith brought his knees up to his chest, creating a cocoon with his arms and holding onto Shiro’s dog tags. November 7th was a couple of days away. The official two-year mark. There wasn’t a grave to visit or urn to hold. Other than screaming into the abyss, there was no other outlet to communicate with him. Nothing. Sometimes that was the most painful part of it all. 

“There’s nothing to go back to,” he softly repeated as he rocked back and forth to soothe himself. 

Nothing.

“Why can’t I let you go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna be rough. Chapter after that will be a Lance one. :) Also, I'm gonna be real it's probably gonna be another couple of months before I post because I have a major work presentation to prep for and a whole other work-related writing project that's currently destroying my soul, so please bear with me. I will be working on this story as much as I can. Updates will just be a little slow. Also, would it be helpful if I posted writing updates on Tumblr? I'd like to engage with y'all some more!


	7. Letting Out the Noise Inside of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years!!! :( I'm so sorry for the wait, y'all. Life got too real!! Quit all three of my jobs and got my first full-time job that's taking up a lot of my time, but I ain't no quitter so here's Chapter 7! Enjoy!
> 
> Also, style-wise, this chapter is a disaster and I apologize. In an attempt to make the memories stand out from the present moment I completely confused myself. I did my best to edit as much as possible. I'll probably go back later this week to see if I can make it better. Anything having to do with Shiro is obviously in the past.

The day crept up on him in subtle ways that lurked in the shadows. The first time he noticed something was off was in yoga class. The room was boiling hot and the sounds of Susans and Jans celebrating the fact that they successfully sucked their belly buttons to their spines irked him in a way he thought he had made peace with a while back.

The fluidity of shifting between positions wasn’t there. His joints popped and the flexibility he spent months improving, magically disappeared. Keith groaned, frustrated as he sat back onto the balls of his feet, his spine threatening to snap in half while in child’s pose. 

The last thing he heard was the instructor calling after him when he stormed out. 

The second time he noticed was at a Panic show. Nyma had preemptively scheduled it and the band was set to perform at a hole-in-the-wall venue near the Garrison. Keith had agreed to take photos, thinking it would be smart to pile everything he possibly could in hopes that when the dreaded time came, he could sleep through his clock blinking…

_1:17_

His index finger would slam on the shutter without confirming the specifications he wanted. Blurry photos were the results of shaky hands. He stopped five times to drink water as perfect shots danced around him. Rookie mistakes swung at him left and right.

The bar was lit bright green, coating the glasses and patrons in envy. Lance and the rest of the band sat with him while he pretended to engage in conversations he never belonged to. Eventually, their carefree chatter disappeared as he lost himself in the sparkle of glass and clear alcohol on the shelves and watched as life continued to unfold without him. 

He caught glimpses of the past behind tumblers and cocktails and suddenly the lights shifted to magenta. The same way they were that night. The music became darker and satisfied an emptiness… 

Except that particular void had now expanded across his chest like napalm, aching for incineration. 

The strange feeling and the physical sensation of Lance digging an elbow into his ribs was enough to drag him back to the present. Keith swallowed thickly and nervously smiled at Lance who was telling the group all about Keith’s Tesla. 

Shiro’s Tesla. 

And when they wandered off to take pictures with fans, Keith discreetly downed a beer to tame the burn.

The third time he noticed was the loudest. He had just fucked up a simple roux, something he’d made a thousand times before. The Bougie Bitches had decided to have dinner together and Keith was in charge of making his famous sweet potato soup. 

Unfortunately, that meant they all witnessed when he launched the stainless steel pot at the wall that startled everyone. Pidge spat her drink across the table while Lance fell out of the chair he was leaning back on. 

He stood motionless, staring like a deer caught in headlights at Hunk, whose face paled as the roux dripped on the wall behind him. Keith felt helpless and looked frantically between his friends, the people he cared about. His friends would say he judged himself more than they did but he couldn’t help but read pity in their eyes.

“Keith,” Hunk said, raising his hands up and slowly approaching him. 

Keith wanted to tell him not to get close, but he couldn’t speak. None of his limbs were working. His eyes followed Hunk’s slow movements. 

“I’m just reaching over here to turn off the stove, okay?” Hunk explained, quietly. He waved an arm at Lance who stopped in his tracks. “You’re okay, buddy.”

Keith wasn’t breathing and his body was letting him know. His arms felt numb and his knees were weak. Suddenly, he felt like he was in the boiling yoga room and his heart was racing against time itself. 

The sound of sirens blared in his head as time itself began to warp bringing him back into the car: the ’69 Mustang. Keith slowly lifted his head to see red and blue lights flashing his way. The corner of his mouth twitched as he looked down at Shiro who had closed his eyes. 

“They’re here…” Keith croaked, his throat was dry. He grabbed onto Shiro’s jacket and fumbled with his switchblade before slicing through Shiro’s seatbelt. 

“Shiro, they’re here.” 

Keith looked at the man’s face and paused. He lightly grabbed his jaw, turning his head. His face was pale, eyes sunken. Blood and saliva spilled from his mouth and onto his shoulder. 

Keith gave his jacket another tug. “Shiro, wake up. They’re here.”

“Keith…”

“Let’s get him some—"

“Lance, get behind him—"

“There you go, buddy.”

“Keith,” Pidge’s voice finally broke through as she pressed a paper bag to his face. His breaths came out in short bursts. “Hunk, grab his arms. He’s going to want to hold onto something in a few and he’s freakishly strong.” 

Keith’s eyes shot between his friends but for some reason, they weren’t registering in his brain. What was going on? “What’s happening?”

“It’s okay, Keith,” Pidge said, making sure to hold onto the bag. He was leaning back against someone. “Just breathe slowly. Keep looking at me and just breathe.”

“The paramedics,” Keith muttered as he grabbed onto Hunk’s arms. “They took him.”

“Stay with me here. You’re in our apartment, okay. You’re here with us.” Pidge gently reminded him. “You’re holding onto Hunk and Lance is right behind you.” Her voice a beacon of calm as another wave of panic coursed through his system. 

The four of them sat together for a while until Keith slumped back into Lance’s chest. Tears dried down his face as Pidge reached over to brush his hair to the side. The last thing he remembered was Lance helping him to bed and staying with until sleep finally overcame him.

~***~

The following day he attempted to take a stand.

His steps were slow and heavy. The echo of sneakers on smooth, grey concrete was a sound he hadn’t heard in two years. His pace calculated otherwise he’d collapse. 

A dull ache in his sternum and a vicious leg cramp had dragged him out of bed. It wasn’t restful sleep given his body had forcibly shut down. Technically, he hadn’t slept in two days. When he woke up, he found himself pressed up against Lance whose light snoring indicated he wasn’t waking up any time soon. 

It was easy for Keith to maneuver out of Lance’s arms. It wasn’t easy to maneuver through the dump his room had morphed into. A dump of old photographs and clothing and his friends had seen it all. It was the final push he needed to get the hell out before he burned down the whole place to cleanse it of his sorrow. 

Part of healing involved owning up to your trauma and facing it head-on. He wasn’t sure what that would look like for him but he figured he’d find something at the Garrison. So he endured the drive in Shiro’s Tesla, shrouded in a light purple hue from the center console. Teeth clenched until his jaw crackled with pain. 

A light grey mist engulfed the campus, which was empty at four in the morning on a Tuesday with the exception of early morning joggers trying to one-up the rest of the world. Keith made sure to arrive before the janitors opened up. Thankfully, Shiro’s key still worked. 

The walk seemed longer than he remembered. His brain directed traffic in an effort to maintain the rest of his body upright and moving. There wasn’t room to process the drop in temperature or the grotesque neon orange glow from the sleep mode lights lining the hallway. 

As Keith strode like the soldier he once was, the visceral details plowed through his hippocampus reminding him that his boyfriend was dead. There was always room for those details. 

His hand clamped around the sleek, black key fob in his pocket for safe measure. Words of wisdom tried to make their way to the forefront:

 _The goal is to take hold of your trauma. To be in control._

As he approached a giant steel door, Keith stopped to assess his surroundings. It was eerily quiet, nothing in comparison to the bustling environment he was used to, cramped with intellectuals who could stand to be knocked down a peg or two. The Garrison was never quiet. Loud machinery, even louder people. 

He stared vacantly at the door with a giant number five painted in Garrison signature colors. His brain granted him permission to raise a hand to rest on the door as his world went blank. There weren’t any anchors around to keep him from sinking further and further into himself. 

He was greeted with the sound of small footsteps in a hurry and giggles. Swaddled by warm arms. Sometimes the details of Shiro’s death were so gruesome that his mind would prefer to remind him of his mother. 

_Mommy!_

_Hold on tight, kiddo!_

The mind, when flooded with grief left him stranded alone on a plane similar to a salt flat. Keith shielded his face for fear his retinas would scorch from the light bouncing off the surface. 

On the other side, his form slumped, focus shifted, unable to break the trance. Apathy drained him of all motivation to move. The Black Lion was there reminding him to stay focused. 

_I’ll never give up on you…_

The door. The steel, cool on his skin, was real. Keith pressed his forehead to the back of his hand, trying to retain control but something inside him coursed with it’s on agenda. As if his soul was reaching out somewhere unknown to the physical world. 

A low whimper escaped him when he realized that all he wanted was to see Shiro. Gathering up what little sense of pride he had left, Keith walked over to the keypad and typed in the entry code. The clank of the metal door unlocking echoed down the hall. 

He reached for the lever and slid the door open with a loud creak. His breath hitched at the sight of an empty garage.

“What…” Keith whispered, stepping in with caution. Standing in the middle of the room, his eyes raced around to find any proof that this was, in fact, Shiro’s second home. Muted tangerine light filtered through the frosted windows of the large garage door in the back, yet Keith stood draped in the shadows.

Anger frothed at the surface as his body temperature spiked. He was going to punch Iverson’s other eye out. The place was wiped clean, void of all of Shiro’s belongings and memories. Keith walked over to the standard, Garrison-issued desk and sat down, dragging a hand down his pale face. 

His nose wrinkled as the smell of oil and grease flooded his nostrils. The sparks from power tools dissecting sheets of metals. The unmistakable squeak of dry erase markers spelling out equations on top of equations. The box of Chinese takeout sitting precariously next to chemicals. 

And Shiro. The room rebuilt itself in front of his very eyes. 

The way he’d smile as Keith would walk in and invade his space. Shiro would never word it like that, but in hindsight, Keith felt like a plague. 

_“Who’d you fail this week?”_

_“You of all people should know that’s not my style.”_

_“That’s right, how could I forget?”_

_“How’d your meeting with Iverson go?”_

_“I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”_

Life was an experiment and Takashi Shirogane was the insatiably curious scientist. The most attractive geek on the planet who didn’t know how to separate his professional identity from the personal and it seeped into everything, even their relationship. It always came back to school and work and what Keith could be doing to improve to ensure his path into the Ph.D. program. 

Daily reminders that Keith’s own workspace awaited next to his. 

Keith, on the other hand, was a brat. While Shiro supported him through dark, ambiguous times, he never felt he had a chance to implode and bask in the failure he believed he was destined to reside in. Shiro was always there to lend a hand, help him back up, vouch for him, bail him out; the list was endless. 

Even when he started blowing off deadlines and submitting assignments at the very last minute because he knew it irked Shiro, the man received him with a smile and kind words. Some would say he was holier than a saint but Keith knew he had demons and he wanted to see them. He craved a different kind of attention from Shiro. 

Keith pressed his fist to his mouth, hating how much he grew to resent the person that meant most to him. How years of that pent-up resentment came spewing out the night Shiro died. 

Tragedies thrived on horribly timed words.

 _“You seem a little on edge.”_

_“I’m fine, Shiro.”_

_“Well, I got us some tickets to see this band called The Galra Invaders. Maybe it’ll get our minds off of everything.”_

He was angry and confused and all he could focus on was the fact that everything was gone. The board was wiped clean, chemicals and tools all vanished. A fist drove down and banged on the desk’s black surface. The haunting sound reverberated through the campus. 

How dare they remove Shiro’s belongings? His life’s work. Keith was too lost in his own emotions to realize he was projecting his own fear of letting go onto the whole Garrison. Everyone had moved on except for him. 

Life continued. The Garrison was functioning just fine without Shiro. 

_“I can’t believe she let you borrow you this!” Keith said gawking at its beauty. The ’69 Mustang was all black with single red stripes painted along the bottom of the doors._

_“I owe her my soul but it’s worth it.” Shiro shared with a small smile as he settled in._

_“Can I drive it?”_

_Shiro chuckled as he adjusted the rearview mirror. “When she officially signs it over to me. What’s mine is yours.”_

_Keith frowned and buckled his seatbelt. “So that’s a hard no.”_

_“It’s a solid maybe. I’m feeling good about our odds.” Shiro reassured with a wink and reached for Keith’s hand, bringing it close to his lips and placing a kiss on his knuckles._

“This can’t be right. This…” Keith frantically stated, burying his hands in his hair. There had to be an explanation, so he stormed out on a quest to find it. A man on a mission. 

He pulled every handle in hopes of finding one space that had been left unlocked. The blinding pain shooting up and down his right side originated from his hip and pulsed down to his toes and back up to his neck. He pushed past it and rummaged through the secretary’s desk. 

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”

Keith froze and turned his head to see Iverson walking toward him. He straightened up and met the man halfway. His knuckles whitened at the sight of his former advisor and thoughts of how he attacked him two years ago in a volatile state came rushing back. 

“Why is Shiro’s stuff gone?” The mission. One way or another he was getting answers. 

Iverson huffed, a folder tucked into his armpit. “I’m surprised Holt would lie to me about your condition,” he said, dismissing Keith as he walked in the direction of his office. Keith clenched his fists, not appreciating being ignored. “You’re in no shape to come back.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not coming back,” Keith bit back, spite coating his words. “Where is Shiro’s stuff?”

Iverson paused in front of his office door. “I figured as much.” 

Keith growled under his breath. “You’re the one that forced me to leave in the first place!”

Iverson stopped and slammed the folder down on his desk. “No one forced you to do the things you did to get yourself thrown out of here, Kogane. You’re lucky I respect Holt or else that would’ve been grounds for expulsion and not a leave of absence.” Their eyes refused to break contact even as Iverson sat down in his chair. A battle of wills. “You need to leave. I have work to do and you’re trespassing.”

His eyebrow twitched in aggravation as he slammed his hand down on the desk. “Where the hell is Shiro’s stuff?! Why is his office empty?”

“He’s dead, Kogane. What were you expecting? A shrine?” Iverson callously asked, lifting his hand to stop Keith before they got into a screaming match. “We haven’t accepted any new doctoral candidates since losing Shirogane.” His tone muted as the curve of his mouth swooped downward. That was the most emotion Keith would ever see out of the man. “Seeing as you won’t be coming back, I guess it’s time the Garrison moves on from you too.” 

Keith took a moment to shove his emotions into an airtight container causing his voice to shake. “W-What do you mean?”

“Holt insisted on saving Shirogane’s space for you, but this just proves that was a waste of our time and resources,” Iverson answered, reaching for a pen and scribbling on a pad as if signing away Keith’s fate. 

Forever the face of imposter syndrome, Keith stormed out and took shelter in Shiro’s office until dawn just like the old days. An ode to a past version of himself. Why was everyone so insistent on keeping him afloat? What would happen if they just let him sink? 

His leg bounced erratically through sunrise as students and faculty made their way across campus. The activity coming from the apron signified that the work day had officially begun. 

A special kind of darkness shrouded his mind that no amount of sunshine could clear it up. The bitterness left him annoyed at the sound of light conversations between friends and laughter coming from neighboring pilots and engineers. 

“Keith?” 

He sighed, recognizing Sam’s voice from the door. 

“Iverson said you were around,” Sam said with a smile as he approached the desk. “Had to see it with my own eyes. Are you okay?”

Keith didn’t answer, his blank stare revealed sleep deprivation. He had been sitting for several hours. The look on Sam’s face immediately morphed into concern and made Keith want to yell. 

“How about we go home? Get some rest and we can check in later,” Sam suggested giving his hand a light squeeze. 

“I’m not coming back to the Garrison,” Keith said, becoming one with the robotic tension keeping his body planted in the chair. 

Sam took a brief moment to digest the information. “That’s fine.” 

The calm tone left Keith on edge. “Then why would you save this space for me?” 

Sam sighed, unable to hide his frustration with Iverson for divulging that bit of information. He adjusted his glasses and pulled up a metal stool next to the desk. “Keith, the only reason I suggested it was because I knew you’d be the only person that could truly honor this space for what it was.” He paused, momentarily looking away to shield the shame. “I realize now it was a far-reaching assumption on my part, and I’m sorry.” 

“Perhaps a part of me is still holding onto Shiro as well,” Sam admitted, cupping Keith’s hand. “The Garrison has truly felt his absence.”

Keith pressed his lips together before responding, “Where’s his stuff?”

Sam frowned and shifted closer to Keith. “His family had the place cleared out a while back.” 

His family. He remembered wordlessly watching them, barely lucid, from his wheelchair at Shiro’s memorial service. How Shiro’s mother, arguably one of the most powerful women he’s ever known and one of the Garrison’s prodigy fighter pilots, fell to her knees and cried out for every soul facing the black and white marble urn.

Sam gently squeezed his hand. “If you don’t want to come back, then I accept that. You’re a grown man capable of making your own decisions. I trust you, Keith. My only hope is that you’ll at least consider finishing your final credits. You deserve that much.”

Unsure of what to do with Sam’s ability to be the most reasonable person on the planet, Keith forwent any arguments and remained silent. The minutes ticked by and neither said a word. Sam knew how best to work with Keith and it was infuriating. 

“I’m feeling angry,” Keith whispered, wiping his hands down his joggers. He could feel something swirling around in his chest. Words that were looking for an escape route. He wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t paid to listen and wouldn’t cower at his grief. 

“I want to stay angry because I’m worried that if… that if I stop feeling angry and start feeling nothing… I-I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

Sam pulled him in and held him close. Keith let himself collapse into receptive arms and dragged his blunt nails down the back of Sam’s coat. 

“I don’t know… I don’t know what else to do, dad…” Desperation caught up with him, reigning him in. “Everyone’s let go of him and I can’t… I can’t. I don’t want to.”

“This isn’t a race, kiddo. You have to take this at your own pace.” His words were kinder than anything Keith had ever told himself. “What you and Shiro had was something special—“

“I wanted to break up with him,” Keith quietly confessed against heavy fabric and golden bands designating Sam’s status, grateful that his face was hidden. He counted the seconds before he pulled away and rested his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands. 

No one knew they were having relationship troubles because no one would fathom the idea in the first place. Not Keith and Shiro. They had been officially dating for two years, best friends for much longer. There was nothing they couldn’t work through. 

He didn’t want to know what he’d see if he looked up at Sam, who simply sighed at the information, letting Keith steer the conversation. 

“I was tired of everything and everyone,” Keith continued, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I felt like I needed to get away…” 

_“These guys are awesome!”_

_“I’m so happy to hear that, Keith! We needed this!”_

_“I love you!”_

“But I kept forcing myself to believe we could fix things…” Keith said, his words falling flat on the ground as his shoulders sank. 

He remembered how the music drowned out the dread that dug out the rift between him and Shiro. It was too painful to admit they could ever go wrong. 

Something clicked in the back of his mind as the somber sounds of a bass guitar and bright magenta lights delicately guided him back. 

Back. 

Back to the crowded venue full of swaying bodies and languid movements. The music was detached enough to satisfy his apathy but edgy enough to allow them both to loosen up and dance. The lyrics crawled across his skin, searing with each syllable. He briefly imagined what it would be like to dance with someone else. The thought was dark but Keith knew he was beyond saving. 

Maybe it was the rush of it all or maybe it was Shiro’s lips pressed against his pulse. Either way, his heart raced and ached all at once. 

As the music faded and the lights dimmed he was the only one left standing near the stage staring in awe as a man with silver hair and chipped nail polish strummed softly at a metallic purple guitar. 

The beat pulsed through the venue like sonar. His finger tapped along the rim of a plastic cup receptive to any message signaling authenticity. Something that said, ‘You’re your own person.’ Keith desperately wanted to believe the music would be of guidance so he stood alert waiting to for it to drop a single pearl of wisdom.

He remembered feeling completely captivated as the musician spoke into the mic. His voice was deep, mysterious and commanded everyone’s attention.

The velvet words sounded familiar.

_“It’s good to have you back.”_

Because they were his. 

_“It’s good to be back.”_

Because they were Shiro’s. 

A night that was meant for nourishment and rebuilding ended up in permanent distance. It revealed every single one of their flaws and shut the venue down along with their relationship and Shiro’s existence. 

“Keith…”

A fresh batch of tears lined his eyes as his focus returned to Sam whose frown deepened. Keith hadn’t spoken in several minutes. The air polluted with questions and worry. Where had he gone to? 

“Let’s go home,” Sam whispered, helping Keith stand up. 

_“Say something, Takashi!”_

_“We’re not doing this here. Let’s go home.”_

~***~

Of all places to end up later that day, Keith found himself at Waffle House. As much as he loved Sam and Colleen, they had a tendency to latch onto him when he was down and there’s was only so much babying and chamomile tea he could take.

Waffle House offered minimal interactions and he appreciated that no one bothered him. Mango brought him the coffee he ordered and a side of hash browns on the house.

“Because I like you,” she explained sliding the dish toward him. It was weirdly comforting. 

Keith offered a curt nod as he lifted his mug to his lips. A shock ran through him when he felt arms wrap around his waist. 

“Hello, beautiful,” Lance whispered close to his ear. Keith glared at Mango who returned the look, unfazed by any of Keith’s veiled threats. 

He set his mug down and swiveled around in his stool to face Lance who was uncharacteristically underdressed in sweatpants, a Volt hoodie, and glasses. 

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you Cheerwine?” Lance asked, placing a quick peck on his lips. 

Keith leaned into the touch. “Why do you look like a hot mess?”

“Excuse you, these are your sweatpants.” Lance pointed out defensively, sliding onto the stool next to him and signaling for some coffee. “At least I finally invested in new glasses.”

“They look good,” Keith muttered against the warm rim of the mug, following Lance’s hand that reached for his plate of hash browns.

“Babe, chill!” Lance yelled causing Keith’s spine to turn into a metal rod as he blinked slowly in confusion at the outburst. “You’re embarrassing me with all your compliments. Waffle House doesn’t need to hear you coming onto me!”

Keith groaned upon hearing the workers laughing to themselves from the other side of the bar. Lance grinned and finished off the hash browns. 

“Mango ratted me out,” Keith stated, wishing the heat tinting his ears would disappear. He had to admit it felt nice to have his company to help lighten the load. Lance was strange like that. 

“That she did,” Lance confirmed. “Not gonna lie, I was sleepin’ in real good too. Your mattress is so bomb.” He paused as he poured an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee. “I just had to see this with my own eyes.” 

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Keith commented and wondered how the man didn’t have diabetes. Lance only smiled and reached over to ruffle his bangs. 

“How are you feeling?” Lance asked, his tone softer as he stirred in the creamer. “You kinda scared us.”

Keith frowned and turned to him, “I’ve been better.”

“Rough couple of days, huh?”

“That would be an understatement,” Keith responded and reached for Lance’s hand because the guilt was eating him alive. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Lance sighed and leaned into Keith. “Don’t apologize. The shit you’re going through is real. I told you I’d be there for you.”

“Thanks.” He couldn’t help but feel the energy radiating off the other man as they turned their attention to their mugs. “You’re in a good mood.”

Lance blew on his coffee before taking a sip and smacking his lips in delight. “I found out that I get Luna for Christmas.”

Keith’s eyebrows lifted as he nodded in acknowledgment. Lance didn’t talk much about his custody situation but Keith knew how important it was for him to see his daughter during the holidays especially when he wasn’t afforded the luxury of being with her on a regular basis. Keith found it preposterous that a judge would even allow the arrangement. 

“Look at us, just two guys in their twenties with middle-aged men problems,” Lance joked, lightly jabbing Keith’s arm. “Hi, I’m Lancé. I’m forty. I’ve recently divorced my third wife. Collectively, we have seven children. These days you can find me dating hot babes and racing fancy cars to numb the pain.” 

Amused, Keith couldn’t resist joining in. “I’m Kenneth. I’m fifty-two, a widower, and I just leased an Audi to fill the void. Wanna go away this weekend?”

Lance booed before taking another sip from his coffee. “Audi sucks. Just an overpriced Volkswagen.”

Keith rolled his eyes to oblivion and back because of course, Lance had an opinion about Audi. 

“But please take me away from my problems, Kenneth,” Lance added with a wink and suggestive flick of his tongue. 

“Just let me know when,” Keith replied nonchalantly, watching Lance beam with a wicked grin. 

“I mean… Camila’s parked at the deck around back, if you wanna, y’know…” Lance trailed off and made a suggestive hand gesture underneath the bar. 

Keith immediately frowned and shot him a glare, sliding his mug forward just in time for Mango to refill it. He muttered his thanks and stirred in a splash of creamer and two quick shakes of sugar, making Lance cringe. 

“We’re gonna have to figure out what’s going on between us because we’re two dangerously attractive people and we haven’t done the nasty yet,” Lance bluntly stated. Keith’s eyes widen and discreetly scanned the restaurant to assess for damage control.

“Maybe it’s because you refer to it as the nasty,” Keith whispered harshly. The worn pleather on the stool creaked as Lance leaned in closer to poke his cheek. “Also, do you not have any kind of filter?” Keith asked, swatting the other man’s hand away. 

“What a prude,” Lance joked, reaching for a fork to dig into the meal Keith hadn’t noticed he ordered. “I love it.”

In his defense, he had to draw the line somewhere. Back in high school, he developed a reputation that he blamed on everything and everyone but himself. It didn’t matter if it was making out with a cheerleader or the infamous soccer field incident, Keith could say he sowed some oats in the name of reclaiming his ‘at-risk teen’ label. Needless to say, they would’ve gotten their one-night stand had Keith and Lance met in high school.

Things simmered down, although it felt more like an ice bath, during college when he had tunnel vision for Shiro. It wasn’t due to a lack of opportunities given that the Garrison was full of horny nerds ready and willing to play out the wildest of fantasies. It was more so an unspoken pact between Keith and his soul. He was pathetically in love with his best friend. 

They had gone on ‘dates’ his freshmen year, but soon Shiro became both physically and emotionally absent. 

Spring semester of freshmen year Shiro went on his first mission and was gone for three months. Keith, in turn, got too friendly with alcohol and reverted to setting things on fire to fill the Shiro-shaped hole left behind.

It took it a little over a year to muster up the courage to ask Shiro out. The corner of his mouth twitched thinking back to Shiro’s reaction and the kiss they shared right after. The way he held Keith’s face; his touch so gentle and loving. 

“I’m just saying… Something’s up and it’s not our—” Lance had been talking the whole time.

“Stop it,” Keith interrupted, shoving his hand into Lance’s face and covering his mouth. Lance laughed into his palm and licked it. Keith didn’t immediately flinch away, causing Lance to remain still. Violet eyes met blue before Keith gently moved his wet hand to Lance’s cheek and dragged it straight down. 

“Gross!” Lance exclaimed, shoving Keith hard and wiping his face with his sleeve all while laughing. A triumphant smile painted Keith’s face.

~***~

Bright red lights warned him that it was almost one in the morning. The day had chipped away leaving him a mess of frayed wires. His hands were clenched into Garrison-groomed fists over his knees and he held his breath ready to jump in.

The white shock of lightning illuminated the dark living room yet no thunder followed signaling a storm was nearby.

_1:00_

Somewhere after his third cup of coffee and first hash brown, Keith had agreed to have Lance over again to help him clean and organize his room. It was painful watching how surgical it was and felt in its extraction.

They stowed away the photos that had spilled from his closet and littered his bedroom floor because he couldn’t find a way to throw them out. The black, grey, and red flannel shirts that Keith tried sleeping under various times were neatly folded and placed in large plastic bags ready to be donated. 

Stitches used to close up a wound that refused to heal. One step at a time. 

The disgust remained and was overwhelming. He was faced with his ultimate weakness as he watched Lance pick up Shiro’s old clothing and comment on photos of his deceased partner. 

Eyes clamped shut as intrusive thoughts reminded him that he was a pestering afterthought. Gum on the bottom of Shiro’s shoes. His defenses were low and he was no longer at the helm. 

Was he really ever there to begin with? 

Trauma had called his bluff and he melted in her hand like putty. He felt a sense of emptiness wash over him that was far worse than grief, so he forced himself to feel the emotions connected to his memories. To hear the screams. To feel fear and panic cuddled up next to him in the form of a lifeless boyfriend.

Only to find a living, breathing boyfriend next to him when his eyes finally shot open. The one that slept like a rock and drooled like a child. The one that rubbed his back while he tied up the last of the garbage bags filled with clothing that lacked shape, body, and life.

The one that sang lightly into the back of his neck, only managing to lull himself to sleep.

_1:03_

It was better that way because Keith didn’t want Lance to see him right now sitting on the couch staring blankly at the clock that mocked his demise. Time was not on his side and there was no turning it back.

He couldn’t remember what Shiro tasted like. The brush of lips over his ear. The sensation was fleeting like a phantom limb but for the soul. No matter how hard he tried he failed to will it into existence. The feelings teased him like they were almost within reach. 

It was impossible. Their love now existed on a realm beyond his being, burnt to the ground and carried away by the sea. Returned to their creator. He carried the ashes of soft kisses, faint touches, and caring words with dry, clammy, unworthy hands. 

His fists tightened and demanded control and his chest shook as he walked himself through that evening. Healing, too, could be equally gruesome. Memories and emotions needed to connect otherwise it was a spinning reel with no picture, no sound, no story. 

No end.

_1:05_

Keith remembered fixating on the musicians, wondering how on earth they could be singing about their relationship. What was going on?

Nothing in the universe could have prepared him for what waited behind him. The crowd alone had left him speechless. Everyone they knew. Everyone they cared about was standing there suffocating him.

Shiro’s mother, Sam, Colleen… Matt and Pidge pointed finger guns in his direction. They were cocooned, keeping Keith trapped in place. His eyes darted across the venue looking for the bright red exit sign.

The breath he held was painful when Shiro lowered himself to one knee. It sat heavy on his chest as anger surged through him with fervent fury because how dare he. 

Shiro’s heartbreak left a stain on his hands no amount of bleach could remove. The higher power above would make it a point to never let him forget the way hope faded from those stormy grey eyes. It would erase every beautiful memory they fostered and frame that dreadful moment in neon lighting. 

_“Keith, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”_

The way he lowered himself down and held Shiro’s hands to tell him as gently as he could when all he wanted to do was scream. 

_“Shiro… I can’t…”_

_“What… What do you mean…”_

_“I can’t do this.”_

_1:08_

Warm tears ran down the dry skin on his face and melded into one underneath his chin. Keith reached down to tie his shoes and shoved his sleeve across his cheek.

_If you’re ever feeling sad just run, kiddo._

_Run until you reach the stars. They’ll keep you safe._

The rest was a blur. He bolted out the apartment door the same way he burst through the metal doors of the venue the moment it dawned on everyone what he had done. 

This time he was free to run as fast and as long as he wanted, so he did just that. His legs stretched in a way that ignited every cell keeping him alive. Everything faded to the background except for his emotions and the brief flashes of light and memories scattered across the sky. He ran until the apartment complex turned into the open road and the open road turned into a cornfield. 

Nothing felt real and all he wanted to do was run fast enough to rip a hole in the fabric of time and find Shiro waiting for him on the other side. The way Shiro eventually found Keith sitting inside his mother’s ’69 Mustang. The one she let her only son borrow for what was supposed to be the greatest night of his life. 

It was the first time Shiro wasn’t the person Keith desperately wanted to see. They sat together, emotions hung out to dry until the venue had closed and the lights of cars driving off faded into the foggy night. The lid on the container housing their stale, expired relationship popped open. 

Keith’s chest heaved as his legs slowed down and he collapsed onto his knees grasping onto the blades of grass to remind himself that Shiro wasn’t actually there, that he wasn’t sitting in that car. 

His mind carried out its own agenda and continued pushing the boundaries of reality further and further away. Fragments of their final conversation pierced their way through. 

_“I don’t understand. I thought we wanted the same thing.”_

_“We’ve never talked about this."_

… 

_“Maybe we should just cool off before—“_

_“No, we’re doing this now! I need you to listen to me. Why is it so fuckin’ hard for people to listen to me?!”_

_“Keith, I’m sorry—“_

_1:11_

_“Shiro, you’re my best friend. You have to know I’m in over my head."_

_“Keith, I’ve always believed in you. I know what you’re capable of. You’ve come so far and have the whole universe ahead of you."_

… 

_“When are you going to stop treating me like I’m one of your students? Why can’t you talk to me like I’m your best friend? Like I’m your boyfriend? Like I’m the man you supposedly want to marry?”_

_“I just want to support you in accomplishing your goals. That’s the kind of man I am, Keith. I care about the big picture and that includes your education."_

_“I’ve needed you to care about everything but my education!"_

Silence. Because knowing each other to the very core meant knowing which spots hurt most. 

The ache in his chest was real. The rumble of thunder in the distance a warning of what was yet to come. Keith looked up to the veil of darkness draped across the sky and begged for someone to listen to him. 

_“Is it true what they’re saying about the year-long mission?”_

He was surrendering everything to the cosmos. Relinquishing his very soul along with all it’s pain to be recycled and dispersed into fuel for some higher operation. They could do whatever they wanted with him. 

He was done. 

_“I need you to trust me. We’ll talk when we get home. I promise."_

_“Maybe we shouldn’t even bother with this…"_

And as one final act, Shiro’s name burst through leaving him more winded than the sprint. The sheer immensity could part the sea. 

“Shiro, if you’re out there I need you to listen to me!” Keith yelled at nothing but the dense clouds and the few stars that dared to peer through the ominous sky asking him to back off. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for everything I did— everything I said. Please…” 

_“Keith, why do you keep trying to push me away?”_

_“Why do you want to marry me if you’re just going to leave?!”_

Blades of grass poked through the space between his fingers as more tears escaped him and raced each other to the ground. “P-please, Shiro! I’m so sorry. I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me the most. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing if I have to.”

_In four-hundred feet, turn right onto Broad Street_

A sob ripped through him and his sorrow splattered like their blood on the windows that shattered as the vehicle flipped multiple times. He didn’t know how long he was out but when he came to, Shiro patiently walked him through reaching for his phone that had fallen by his feet and cutting through their seatbelts with his switchblade. His movements felt forced like he was on autopilot. This wasn’t happening.

It took the first responders six minutes to arrive. In six minutes Shiro spoke through clattering teeth and made a morbid joke, forcing his way through a painful chuckle. Keith felt his quick and short breaths against his neck. 

Keith remained quiet and leaned his head onto Shiro’s, trying his best to resist the urge to vomit, scream, and cry all at once. Instead of staring at the metal door crammed up against Shiro’s body, he thought of what they would do when they got home. Maybe get takeout. Watch a movie. Fall asleep together. It was just a nightmare he’d soon wake up from. 

_“I need to know you’re going to be okay. I love you, Keith… but, but… I worry about you.”_

Time escaped him until the warped sounds of sirens finally caught his attention. Red and blue lights and the heaviness of Shiro’s sunken form and closed eyes. There was a ringing in his ear. 

_“Where do we go after this? What happens after this?”_

Power tools and first responders shouted orders. Keith clung onto Shiro who hadn’t spoken. A loud burst from the driver’s side jolted his body. Limbs flew in every direction as people reached in to grab Shiro. An unspoken permission was granted and all he could do was scramble to keep hold of Shiro. 

_“No! Don’t take him! Shiro… Wait!”_

Before he knew it, Shiro’s fingers slipped past his, inviting all hell to break loose as he vomited into the driver's seat at the sight of Shiro’s mangled arm. His own arms cramped up against his chest in a futile attempt to maintain control but nothing was working. 

The paramedics spoke to him but they couldn’t hear his response. He tried yelling but nothing was there. Mumbled words. At one point the right side of his body went completely numb. 

As a final attempt to protect Keith from impending psychological pain, he remembered the Black Lion transporting him back to a place of peace. Back to a moment in time where life wasn’t too much of a burden. 

Keith stood in front of a playground. There was one little boy, alone with his hippopotamus, Godzilla. Keith watched the boy expertly navigate the jungle gym escaping from evil aliens. A switchblade with intricate detail, his mighty sword. 

_My name is Keith Kogane, and I’m here to kick some ass! Drop your weapon, you piece of crap alien!_

He was an awful seven-year-old but he knew of worlds beyond any other seven-year-olds wildest imagination. Barreling down the tunnel slide, he launched into the sky. 

_Don’t worry, Godzilla, I’m the fastest pilot in the whole galaxy. I’ll save us —ow!_

Always dreaming of flying to the ends of the universe. 

Always dreaming of better days. 

He fell many times but always dusted his knees and got back up. That resilience was mopped up with the rest of his strengths because when shit hit the fan he shriveled and curled into himself. 

Keith had accepted death before he even got to know her.

_—panic attack._

_Two males..._

_—injuries to the head and abdomen, dislocated hip._

_The other has sustained severe injuries to—_

_—possible amputation._

_—prep ORs…_

_—initiating CPR…_

**Time of death**

Keith cradled himself and reached out to hold onto nothing but the ghost of a broken man taken away on a stretcher. “You were worried about me even in your final moments…” He paused and lowered his head to the ground as an offering, hoping the Earth would accept him as he was.

“It’s been two years and I still don’t know how I’m here.” The words were heavy in the back of his throat like they were carrying the burden of his existence. Statistically speaking he should’ve died with Shiro.

“Why am I not with you?!” He frantically yelled at nothing but dense clouds. His cries were left unanswered and Shiro wasn’t there to put him back together. “Shiro…”

Keith scrambled onto his feet and attempted to run again but his legs gave out beneath him as he crashed into the hard earth. His frustration burst from him in a loud growl and he remained still face pillowed by damp grass until the pain in his leg subsided.

“Please tell me it won’t be like this forever,” he whispered. It wasn’t like him to beg but there was nowhere left to hide. “Tell me I’ll be okay. Please, just tell me…”

The cruel irony of it all was when he found himself wanting that reassurance, the kind he rejected for so many years, from the one person who refused to believe he could ever fail.

Lost in his thoughts, Keith remained on the ground murmuring all the “I love you’s,” he should have told Shiro until a bright light came shining from behind him. Keith held his breath as his shadow extended beyond reach and a voice called out to him. 

“Keith!"

_1:17_

Keith shot up from the ground, eyes wide and damp to catch Lance and Pidge flying out of the car and running toward him. His head snapped back at the sky; the moon now in plain sight.

The night sky a canvas spewing with its natural colors signaling that underneath dense clouds heavy with rain and pained existence, there was beauty. As his sister and boyfriend collapsed around him, scooping him into their arms, he watched as Solace extended her hand in his direction offering him the second chance he’d been unknowingly searching for this whole time. 

Forgiveness was hard to recognize when he never even knew how to ask for it. Life had given him every reason to reject the notion that he was worthy of it.

Keith felt his shoulders sink in acceptance. There was no need to replay the sounds of tragedy that instead were replaced with crickets, the rustle of crops, and soft words of kindness. The present moment.

In some way, it was a final answer and Keith knew there was nothing left to do but untie his end of the string and watch the frayed edges dissipate, carried away by the fall breeze. The universe didn’t want him; it didn’t want his soul or his life.

In exchange for peace, he would have to be willing to accept those years of love, loyalty, and friendship were now part of his past. Shiro would forever live in his memories as a guiding light, an ember of hope.

“I’ll see you again one day,” Keith mouthed into someone’s shoulder.

He felt a kiss on his temple, limbs fighting to keep him still. “Are you okay?” Lance finally asked, lowering his hands to squeeze Keith’s arms, needing some kind of reassurance that Keith was in fact in front of him.

Keith pulled back, trying to settle down the emotions bouncing between the three of them. “Yes.”

Pidge shoved her glasses up her face as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “A-Are you sure?”

He nodded quickly and scooped her back into a hug because he owed her so many apologies. “I’m so sorry, Pidge, for everything,” Keith whispered as she cried into his chest. He felt Lance’s hand tap his shoulder and murmur something about giving them a minute before running back to the car.

“I’m sorry too,” Pidge responded, chin resting on his shoulder. They couldn’t find a way to let go. “I just want to help.”

His eyes squeezed shut hating how much crap he’s put her through, “I don’t want to be a burden—"

Pidge pulled back, staring at him in disbelief. “Keith, I love you so much.” She reached up to cup his face, sporting a small pout. “I need you to understand that you’re not on your own anymore. Being a part of a family is knowing when you need help. It’s knowing that you can reach out even at your lowest. Don’t push us away."

He didn’t have a chance to protest before she continued. “I know you. I know you believe it’s easier to face things alone, but you see what good that’s doing you when you’re hurling pots and having p-panic attacks.” Her voice cracked as more tears streamed down her face. She grabbed onto his shirt right over his heart to make sure he received the message loud and clear. “You have a family that would do anything for you. You have friends that care about you. We’re all here for you. ”

Keith bowed his head and nodded.

“I love you,” she reminded.

Keith’s features softened, “I love you, too. It’s just so heavy sometimes. I don’t know… It’s like I want to scream but I can’t.”

“Then let’s scream,” Pidge suggested taking hold of his hands and helping him to his feet. She waved over at the car.

Confused, Keith looked back as Lance jogged over to them. “Everything okay?”

“Follow me,” Pidge ordered, turning on the light on her phone to guide the way through the cornfield.

“God, it’s like I’m living out my worst nightmare,” Lance commented, his shoulders high with tension. “Are you leading us to our doom?”

Pidge scoffed, “No, there’s a clearing somewhere around here.”

“You mean like a fuckin’ crop circle?!” Lance yelled and held on tightly to Keith’s hand. “How the fuck do you even know about this?"

She laughed as Lance continued to rant about conspiracies and his claustrophobia. Keith had to admit he was curious to know how the hell Pidge discovered this.

When they reached the small clearing it was just a small circular patch of empty land.

“We’re gonna die,” Lance said, looking around. The light of the moon beamed directly over them. Pidge slid her phone into her back pocket before telling Lance to zip it.

“Pidge, what’s going on?” Keith finally asked, Lance now attached to his right arm. 

She grinned, “Nothing. Just thought this would be a perfect spot to scream.”

“You mean like to our deaths?” Lance questioned, jumping at the slight rustle of leaves.

“You said you wanted to scream, so let’s scream.” Pidge reached for Keith’s hand as they settled into a line looking up to the sky.

“So we’re like—"

“We’re just screaming, Lance. Screaming our asses off.”

Keith curled his toes and swallowed hard, planting his feet on the solid ground. The solid ground holding him up. He lowered his gaze as Pidge slowly counted down.

_Three…_

He bit his lip thinking of all the sadness he wanted to disown.

_Two…_

The unnecessary rage, the resentment that burned like hot sand on bare feet.

_One…_

_This one’s for you, Shiro._

Pidge and Lance tightly squeezed his hands as the three of them yelled at the top of their lungs. Keith yelled until his throat ached and his lungs had no air left to give.

It felt like the biggest ‘fuck you’ they could send off into the cosmos. Flipping the bird to all the grief that came their way, and the collective bullshit toll between the three of them was pretty high.

Feeling a bit a pressure alleviate from his core, he let go of their hands and laced his fingers on top of his head, tilting it back. Keith sighed in relief, welcoming the cool wind brushing his bangs across his skin.

“Wanna do it again?” Pidge asked, slightly out of breath.

“Yes,” Keith answered with a soft smile.

Lance was hesitant before speaking up. “Okay, but after could we get the hell out because this is giving me the heebie-jeebies!"

~***~

Keith found himself sitting alone at the pier listening to the soft crash of waves. There weren’t many visitors in November and he appreciated having both the physical and mental space to himself. Two weeks had gone by and he went to therapy as normal, was commended for his efforts, and felt as though a dark blindfold had been set aside.

An old sketchbook rested on his lap and his left hand was covered in charcoal. He’d spent over an hour sketching the sound of waves, seagulls, and the occasional jogger. It had been years since he opened his sketchbook and what he discovered was a curiosity that had been pushed aside for the rigidity of academia. 

He laughed at his anatomy studies of Shiro even as he was hunched over his desk or sprawled out on the couch. Keith loved drawing his hands the most, which were arguably the most dynamic part of Shiro. He didn’t care if it was Shiro simply holding a pencil or a cup of coffee or jamming the buttons on a calculator. Keith missed holding them, missed the way his fingers would card through his hair. 

He tapped his head a couple times on the worn leather cover when a familiar voice caught his attention. Keith adjusted his hood to keep his face hidden but when he looked up he was already being approached. 

“Hello, there. Are you Keith?” 

Keith nodded and grumbled, “Yes.”

The woman smiled and sat next to him on the bench, tucking stark silver hair that almost appeared white behind her ear. “I’m sorry, I realize this is incredibly strange, but my name is Allura—

“I know who you are,” Keith said, feeling unnecessarily defensive. All he knew was the pain in Lance’s eyes whenever something about her came up or the way he’d set his guitar down to answer phone calls from some guy connected to her. 

Allura sighed and frowned, picking up on his discomfort. Keith cautiously eyed her and stood up to dust his jeans off, gathering his supplies into his red backpack and swinging it over his shoulder. 

“It is kind of strange that you know who I am though.” He casually noted. Allura followed closely behind him as he made his way up the pier. 

“I’m just...” She paused and Keith stopped to look back at her. Her body language communicated her frustration as she crossed her arms over her chest and cast her gaze to the side. “I don’t know how else to get Lance to talk to me.” 

Keith took a moment to mull over his words given her vulnerable state and his newfound sense of understanding for people in tough spots. He slowly approached her, his fists jammed in the pockets of his leather jacket. 

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

Allura nodded and moved her hands to grasp her biceps, baring the cool, crisp breeze through her pink, zip-up running top. The sea salt in the air curled the ends of her bangs, exhaustion written on her face. “I was hoping you could let him know I need to speak with him.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Keith was quick to say, fumbling with the key fob in his pocket and continuing his way toward the stairs near the parking lot. 

Allura ran in front of him, her eyes wavered with desperation. “Please, it’s important. I need to talk to him.” She reached into her cross-body purse and pulled out a small Polaroid photo. “Give this to him. He’ll understand.” Without another word, she offered a small smile as if Keith was her last hope and turned to leave. 

Later, outside of his apartment, Keith sat in his car and stared down at the photo contemplating what to do. It was a picture of a small dock with a paddle boat and it held some hidden meaning that only Lance and Allura could recognize. He had no right to hold onto it but he also didn’t want to do anything to hurt Lance. 

Their past relationship was a topic that Lance never brought up unless asked about specifically. Even then, his answers were vague and brief, which was not normal for a man who could talk the chattiest ears off. 

“Goddamn it,” Keith muttered, smacking the steering wheel before grabbing his phone. 

**Keith Kogane:** I need to talk to you. 

**Lance McClain:** :( don’t break up with me

 **Lance McClain:** We JUST started dating…

 **Lance McClain:** Is this because I steal your shirts?

Keith paused and wondered if he was so distant and reserved about his feelings that Lance was actually under the impression that he wanted to break up with him. It dawned on him that he was following a very similar pattern with Lance that he used with Shiro. 

It bothered him that Lance often hid things about his personal life. The phone calls and messages continued coming through yet Keith let it slide accepting that it wasn’t his place. Maybe it was? Maybe that logic was what created the awful pattern in the first place. 

Keith bit his lip before responding, realizing that confronting Lance about Allura meant addressing their own issues.

 **Keith Kogane:** Not that. Where can I meet you?

 **Lance McClain:** Sending my location. Everything okay?

Keith frowned and eyed the photo again. “I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Keith. I love writing his character. I love writing about his flaws and growth. Ugh. Lance chapter coming up. Ya boy also has some shit to own up to and move on from.


End file.
